


Lost & Found

by Makkoska



Category: Naruto
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern: No Powers, Angst, Dirty Talk, Domestic Bliss, Happy Ending, Healing, Humor, Idiots in Love, M/M, Past Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Past Drug Use, Relationship Negotiation, Self-harm tendencies, Smoking, Social Anxiety, a hefty chunk of angst, various sexual activities
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-20
Updated: 2021-01-29
Packaged: 2021-03-12 09:08:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 40,960
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28882935
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Makkoska/pseuds/Makkoska
Summary: Uchiha Madara had tried to live three different lives. First, he aimed to be the obedient son his father wanted him to be and led the family’s business corporation. Second, he tried to be the exact opposite he had been told he must be. On his third try he did his best to just find himself, with the help of a childhood crush. This is a story about bad choices, regrets, second chances and healing. This is a story exclusive to the subscribers of The Konoha Reader!
Relationships: Senju Hashirama/Uchiha Madara
Comments: 77
Kudos: 127





	1. SHATTERING

**Author's Note:**

> Originally, I wanted to pay tribute to the different stages of Madara’s life: the clan leader, the recluse in the cave and the crazed fighter in the Shinobi war, who laughed like a madman when he could feel his wounds again. A nice little oneshot, I thought, a modern AU maybe, as I haven’t written any of those things so far. 
> 
> Then before I knew it, this story stared to live its own life. Madara has ISSUES here and it was a long journey to find resolution for them. (Do heed the warnings in the tags.) There was a point where I felt he seriously needed a professional therapist – but the poor guy only got me, a fanfic writer. 
> 
> The fic ended up being 40K words, five times longer than I planned it to be. It is a modern AU, although it is set in Fire Country and not in any actual place from our world. I’m EXTREMLEY invested in it, have been waking up very early for weeks to write it before work, then continuing during my evenings. Right now, I’m doing the final editing, and will post the chapters over the next few days probably.
> 
> This is also the second story in a row I wrote where Hashirama and Madara spends most of their time together, just the two of them, in a house. Talk about COVID lockdowns.

**_Uchiha Madara - alive or dead?_ **

_Infamous of his wild parties, Uchiha Madara used to make the news every week. But where did the hero of the juiciest scandals in Konoha City suddenly disappear to?_

_Parties, fistfights, sex & drugs & rock & roll - we thought that is the life of this man! Will he end up behind bars, we wondered in this article. Our specialists analysed his lifestyle and suggested he was likely to drop dead in the middle of a crazy night before that happened. Read more_

_To our shocked surprise he’s neither in prison nor dead! But then - where is he now? If he didn’t go out with a bang, where did he go?_

_It’s been almost two years since Madara vanished from the public eye. What has he been up to since?_

_ Subscribe for details! _

* * *

Uchiha Madara was the favourite person of all the tabloid papers and websites for three intense years. The articles would tell you he was born rotten - the heir of a successful business corporation, born into immense wealth that made him crooked, uncaring of others’ or of his own wellbeing. “The prodigal son is on the loose, since there’s nobody left to keep him in check,” they would say. 

In truth, Madara was anything but the prodigal son. He had been a good boy, the perfect, obedient child for so many years. 

He was what his parents wanted him to be. He was never disrespectful with his family. The teachers in school loved him. He never questioned their decisions, just bowed his head respectfully and did what he was told. 

He had never got on with other children outside his family, but it was alright. School was for learning, not for having fun. It wasn’t as if he needed anyone outside his family. This was how the Uchiha had lived for generations upon generations. Relying only on each other, mistrusting any outsider who wasn’t a relative, wasn’t from the _clan._ Their bonds made them powerful. Making sure the young lived to their full potential was key to their success.

Madara had learned at an early age not to stare longingly at the other children, who seemed so carefree, running around on the playgrounds. He had his private lessons, his studies, his books he could learn from. He was told, again and again, those were what mattered. That he would be grateful, once he grew up, that his parents took such care of his education. 

Years later, there was a memory Madara could clearly recall. His father was driving him home from school - a rare occurrence. Madara tried to show the expected gratitude that it wasn’t the chauffeur this time, although he might have preferred the man’s company over his father’s. With the chauffeur, they always listened to light, entertaining music in the car. The man had always asked how school had been, if Madara learned something fun that day. It was a silly thing, of course. A silly chatter of an uneducated man. 

When it was his father, they drove in silence. Madara stared out the window, watching the rows of houses pass by. When they stopped at a red sign, Madara noticed a homeless man, sitting slumped against the brick wall of a building. Some people stopped and dropped some coins into the paper cup in front of him, but most just passed by, as if he was invisible. Madara wondered if he was cold. He must have been, sitting on the ground in late November. His father noticed where he was looking and commented.

“You see son, that’s why you have to study hard. You must do the best in your life, work hard and think about nothing but your family. Weak, lazy people - they end up like this.”

Madara’s father was the CEO of their very successful business corporation. Founded by the Uchiha a century ago, the company successfully transformed and adapted to the modern days. They were known for their ruthless efficiency. Under the leadership of Uchiha Tajima, the corporation grew larger than it had ever been.

Some said the family owned half of Fire Country. This was, of course, an exaggeration. The rumours about their connections to different criminal organisations, however? Madara had never been sure about it. But even if it was true, he was brought up not to question it, so he didn’t. Never outside the privacy of his own mind, at least.

* * *

**_The Curse of the Uchiha?_ **

_If you hear the name “Uchiha Madara” you likely will think of big money being burned fast. You will think about the renowned corporate empire sold off to the first bidder. We are sure you will think about the extravagant parties, the freely flowing alcohol and young men clad in very little clothing._

_But who is Madara, behind his scandals? Sources close to the Uchiha family all agree that growing up as the heir of Uchiha Tajima wasn’t an easy childhood, despite the money and power that came with it. The best schools, the best clothes, but no friends or caring parents!_

_People who know the family will insist he was the victim of the “Uchiha Curse.” But what is this Curse? How did it tear the Uchiha apart?_

_Details on page 12!_

* * *

Most teenagers have a rebellious phase, but Madara had only one single act of disobedience.

His maternal grandparents lived in a small house in a sleepy little village in the countryside. They usually visited them once or twice a year. However, on the summer break before his fourteenth birthday he was sent to spend two months with them. Izuna was in hospital again, and it seemed it would be an extended stay. Their mother claimed she was too busy looking after the younger brother to have Madara under feet as well. Madara didn’t protest, didn’t say that their mother hardly ever paid them any attention. He wanted to stay with Izuna, as he was sure he would have done a lot better job of looking after him than his parents did, but nobody asked for his opinion, so he didn’t speak up. 

It would have been more comfortable, staying in his own room, but he assumed there wouldn’t be much change to his summer anyway. His grandparents were quiet, old people, so he would have the chance to spend all his time studying without much disturbance. 

With Izuna in hospital and him carted off out of sight, it promised to be a long and dull summer. His younger brother was the only person Madara had ever felt close to, so he prepared himself for feeling lonely and bored.

The local kids all knew who he was. Their parents told them to be respectful with Madara. “His father is a very influential man.” “Be polite but don’t spend much time with this boy.” Madara shouldn’t have cared, but secretly he hated them. They were just like the other children in school, distant, fearful. He couldn’t even tell their faces apart. He rather played shogi with his grandfather, read his textbooks in his room or roamed the riverbank on his own. Especially the last.

The riverbank was the best place he had ever been at. He lived his whole life in the city, amidst concrete, glass and steel, cars and buses and massive crowds of people. When they went on summer holidays with his family, it was always to huge blocks of five star hotels, where everything was sterile and lifeless. 

The riverbank was an untamed jungle for someone like Madara. Instead of studying, he spent all his days there, exploring. The largest dragonflies he had ever seen lived among the river cane, great red beasts. If he held out his fingers and sat still, they took a rest on them, looking like majestic monsters, scary and fascinating. There were frogs and water snakes. If he went out early enough, he had a chance to spot a rabbit or a fox as well. Madara had been almost fourteen then, but it was the first time ever that he could really act like a kid, getting dirty and sunburnt. He had little cuts on his legs and arms from the tall, sharp-edged grass, bruises from when he fell from trees and rocks. He got his clothes not just dusty and torn, but wet as well, as he walked into the river until the water reached his knees and tried to catch fish with his bare hands. His grandparents couldn’t care less how he spent his days. For the first time in his life, he was free. 

As it turned out, he wasn’t the only one finding the riverbank a fascinating place. Madara had been quite upset at first, when he met the other boy. An old Wisteria grew by the river, its flowery branches offering shelter from the sun. Madara considered it his HQ, so he felt rightful in his anger, finding someone else there just after a week he had discovered the place. 

“Just who are you?” he demanded. He seemed like one of the village boys, tanned, in unfitting clothes and with an ugly haircut. Madara expected him to be scared away and never come back. 

“I’m Hashirama,” the other boy grinned at him. “I saw you skipping stones over there. _Trying_ to skip stones, I should say. Hey, don’t glare at me like that! It’s not my fault that you suck. But don’t worry - I rather got the hang of it - do you want me to teach you?”

Hashirama was nothing like the other boys. He wasn’t intimidated by Madara at all. He didn’t keep his distance - he liked to hook his arm around Madara’s neck, pull him close and tell him excitedly whatever plan he came up with for the day. He was loud, rowdy and impolite. He made fun of the adults, and he called out their mistakes. He was friendly and liked to joke. The puns might have landed awkwardly half the time, but they weren’t cruel at least, and Hashirama himself always laughed on them. He was nothing like Madara. Maybe that was why he was drawn to him so irresistibly. 

It had already been the best summer of Madara’s life but spending it with Hashirama made it a hundred times better still. He didn’t study half the time he was supposed to, instead he was out by the river every day, getting a tan for the first time ever, getting even more bruises and little cuts, getting dirt under his fingernails and tangles in his hair that her grandmother didn’t cut when he asked her not to. He was awkward around the other boy and often rude, but Hashirama didn’t mind. He seemed to know that Madara didn’t really mean his insults or that he couldn’t help his stiffness.

They had done all kinds of things with Hashirama. They skipped stones, chased dragonflies, climbed trees. They had even sneaked out one night, armed with torches, to try to catch a glimpse of the owls they heard at night. The owls didn’t show themselves, but they were welcomed by about ten thousand mosquitos, all of them very keen to take a bite out of them. They laughed about it the next day, red spotted and horribly itchy, but trying not to scratch. 

None of these activities were dignified or served any purpose. They didn’t help Madara to grow, to become stronger and smarter as it was expected of him. 

He enjoyed them immensely. 

The best was when they wrestled - Hashirama was stronger, but Madara was faster and he soon learned ways to overpower him. It was the best feeling, when he managed to push Hashirama on his back, kneeling above him, grinning so widely it hurt. He always felt some warm excitement inside, something he didn’t have a name for, back then. 

Other times they just talked. Hashirama was no village boy, despite his looks. He was the son of a prodigious, wealthy family as well, as Madara learned, spending his time with his aunt. He ended up here after an argument with his father, because he apparently argued with his parents. His upbringing didn’t differ that much from Madara’s at all, but while Madara was a good, obedient son, Hashirama was a rebel. 

“Adults are idiots,” he told Madara, sounding matter of fact. “My father is a real jerk, but he is a successful jerk, I guess. I can’t wait to turn eighteen and move out.”

It was such a foreign concept. Speaking bad of your elders, wanting to leave your family. Madara would have never entertained such thoughts on his own but hearing Hashirama say these things so casually thrilled him. For the time of the summer break he entertained the thought that things maybe could be different. That he could choose to walk down a different path than what his parents set him on, if he made his mind up to do it.

They made all kind of plans with Hashirama. Or rather, they wove childish, naive dreams together, about changing the world, about being happy. 

“I have a brother four years younger than me,” Madara told his first and only friend. “I try to protect him from…” he waved a hand, at loss of words. “From everything? Father’s expectations, people who will suck up to you as they hope to gain something, mean rumours… you know how it is.”

Hashirama knew. He also had a younger brother he was looking after.

“Well… it often seems Tobirama is looking after me, and not the other way around,” he laughed. “He’s only eleven, but I swear he’s smarter and stricter than any adult I know! He is father's favourite as his grades are the best and because he never talks back, but the old man is an idiot. Tobirama doesn’t like him any better than I do, but he does this thing… you know, not showing it, and gets away with stuff.”

“He does sound a whole lot smarter than you,” Madara smirked. “Are you sure you are brothers?”

“Oh, you are so mean,” Hashirama blew him a raspberry and pretended to be sulking until Madara tackled him down, trying to tickle his sides. In no time they were rolling in the grass, breathless with laughter.

Hashirama was also the first boy Madara kissed.

It happened in the last week of the break - summer had flown so fast as never before. Madara was almost fourteen and his hormones were killing him. He soon realised that pimples, smelly sweat and odd cracking in his voice weren’t the worst things that came with puberty. He was having _dreams_ \- dreams which left him with sticky pyjama pants. He had to get up early morning way too often and wash them out at the sink, lest his grandmother found them. Other times he woke up still hard and throbbing. He started to toss off so frequently he was worried something was wrong with him. Especially as he kept thinking about Hashirama while he did so.

Being gay wasn’t something he could talk about with anyone in his family. He wasn’t even sure if it was about that - maybe he just kept dreaming and thinking about Hashirama as he spent most of his days with him! Very carefully, phrasing it as vaguely as possible, he asked his friend if he was having similar difficulties.

Eyes wide as saucers and face red as a tomato, Hashirama confessed he did. “How did you know?” he asked, looking somehow both afraid and hopeful. Trying and failing to be discreet, he scrambled closer to Madara. They were sitting by the river, the grass and buses so overgrown by the end of the summer that they protected them from view. The Wisteria had long lost its flowers, but its leafy branches still acted as a tent. 

Hashirama slid closer, face and ears flaming as he stammered.

“Uh, Madara, I also think that I… if you maybe… would you mind if I…” 

Then kissed him. Madara was so shocked, he forgot all about what he _should_ do, and kissed back.

They spent the whole day lying in the high grass, fingers entwined and sometimes kissing. Just dry peck of lips, innocent and curious, but it left both of them flushed and embarrassed each time.

“This has been the best summer of my life,” Hashirama whispered to him. He was lying on his side, dark brown eyes bright and full of emotions Madara didn’t have a name for. He was this scrawny kid, arms and legs in an awkward phrase of growing, too long and too thin. He was supposed to look ridiculous in his baggy shorts, oversized tee, with his awkward bowl cut. Madara found him inexplicably pretty. 

It was also the best summer of his life and he didn’t want it to end.

“Keep in touch,” Hashirama begged. “I know you said you are not allowed to use the telephone at home unsupervised, but we can write to each other? Meet up over the holidays? I will miss you so terribly, Madara.”

Madara went back to his grandparent’s house feeling both sad and elated. Sad that summer was ending but overjoyed to have found Hashirama. 

He wasn’t prepared to find his father there, coming a week earlier than agreed to pick him up. 

Madara had last seen Hashirama the day after. They went into the village with his father before they were leaving. His grandparents' house was outside the centre, far from the shops and they asked their in-law to do a bit of shopping for them. Madara was thinking hard how to send his friend a message that he couldn't be there today at their usual meeting spot, when his father suddenly stopped and growled “Senju Butsuma,” as some kind of a curse.

Madara looked up to see a tall, bulky man with a severe expression staring at them as if he was seeing something particularly nasty. Next to him, wide eyed and flushed, was Hashirama.

“Uchiha Tajima,” the man muttered. “What a chance to run into you here, of all places.”

“This happens to be the village of my in-laws,” Tajima answered with a tight smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “But I would have assumed you are spending time somewhere more exotic from the money you have _stolen_ from me, Senju.”

“Stolen, indeed,” Butsuma snorted. “You should learn how to make proper business. But I guess all your shady connections take you only so far. I guess it won’t be so long now before I can see you behind the bars where you belong. Then vermin like you won’t be polluting peaceful little villages like this anymore,” he added, with a nasty glare at Madara.

“Father,” Hashirama interrupted like the fool he was. “This is my friend, Madara. Please don’t talk to him and his father like this.”

“Madara,” Tajima said in a tone that bode nothing good, his fingers tightening on his son’s shoulder, “Have you been making friends with this boy?”

“I… We talked a few times. We are not friends. I didn’t know who he was.”

“Let’s go then, son,” Tajima said and Madara turned and followed him. What else was there to do? He blinked back the tears that threatened to spill. 

He sat next to his father on the long drive home, head bowed and posture apologetic. He murmured “yes, father” and “I’m sorry, I should have known better,” where it was appropriate, but all he could think of was the look of sadness and betrayal on Hashirama’s face.

* * *

**_Our favourite Bad Boys - The Top 10 list!_ **

**_#3_ **

_Our third on the list is Something Else! We had our rockstars, we had our actors and we even had our politicians! Mr Nr. 3 is a rich family’s heir, turned business entrepreneur, turned playboy! He is nobody else, but…_

_...Uchiha Madara!_

_This wealthy, beautiful beast of a man burst into Konoha’s nightlife with a loud bang five years ago, just to disappear from it without a trace! But what three years they were while it lasted! Mr Uchiha spent them seemingly constantly high and/or drunk, but we have to forgive him that as he was also half-naked most of the time! That chest, ladies, those abs, those arms will surely give us pleasant dreams for many years to come. Not to mention when those tight pants slid low and we got a glimpse of that trail of hair too. Hmmm, simply delicious!_

_If you’d like to fall under the spell of those magical, black eyes or try to untangle that legendary hair, we have bad news for you. Madara had only ever been seen in the company of other men, and rarely with the same one twice!_

_< < go back to #4 | go forward to #2 >>_

* * *

After that summer’s interlude with Hashirama, Madara went back to be the good, obedient son he was supposed to be. His one-time blunder was forgiven, as he claimed he didn’t know who Hashirama was. Which was, more or less, the truth. He didn’t _know_ him to be a Senju. They were careful to never share their family names, as they suspected they might learn something uncomfortable about the other. This way, Madara could pretend he wasn’t stepping out of boundaries. Pretend until reality came crashing down.

They exchanged addresses, so Hashirama wrote him letters, all addressed to ‘Madara’ simply. His father handed them over to him with a disapproving frown on his face. Madara did what was expected of him and threw them out, unopened. He lay on his back in his bed for long nights, wondering what might be in them, but he never tried to steal one back from the bin to check. 

After that summer, the years passed much the same. He studied, passing all his exams with flying colours. He spent as much time with his little brother as he could, Izuna being the only person really close to him. There were things - like Hashirama or Madara’s growing resentment towards their parents - he couldn’t mention even to him, but it was alright. They talked about the future, studied together and when his brother’s health allowed, went for long walks. 

At sixteen, Madara tried martial arts and found them to be good outlets of the pent-up frustration and energy inside of him. He sometimes thought about their childish wrestling with Hashirama and how different it would be to fight him like this. He kept those thoughts close to his heart. 

Training with the other boys had an added benefit, or maybe hardship, depending on how he looked at it. When one of the other boys managed to pin him down it gave him a different kind of thrill, not necessarily related to the rush of adrenalin. Madara was good in his chosen sport, so they were usually older and larger than him. At nights, Madara often touched himself to memories of a sweaty, muscled body holding him fast, imagining warm breath panting in his ear in excitement. 

Despite this, Madara didn’t like to lose. Soon enough, nobody was strong enough in his group to defeat him. He did enjoy pushing the other boys against the ground too. Those fights were as good of a wanking material as any. 

His father refused to allow him to pursue his hobby in a more serious matter. It was good for his physical health, he was told, and also to enhance his competitive side, but sports were a side activity that shouldn’t misdirect him from his real goal. Which was to join Uchiha corp. after university, of course. It would have been stupid to be disappointed about this, so he wasn’t.

He was almost eighteen when he first entered a discreet romance with a discreet boy of his age. He was the son of his father’s business partner - from a proper family, who understood Madara’s priorities. They were together for half a year, messing around in Madara’s room, trying to stay quiet. Their parents never knew about it, or if they did, they didn’t care, as long as they kept it low.

They hardly met outside the house and if they did, they kept a respectful distance, so nobody ever had a reason to look at them twice. The fling ended when the boy went to college in another town, and Madara was more relieved than anything else to see him go, even if he had to rely on his own right hand again. 

He went to the top-notch university his father wanted him to go to study Business Management as he was supposed to. He hated every moment of it, but he only ever mentioned it to Izuna.

“Studying isn't supposed to be fun, is it?” his brother asked tentatively and Madara agreed. He thought it would be nice if Izuna would get to choose what he wanted to learn and do with his life, but then again, Izuna was likely to actually enjoy Business Management. It was just Madara, who was lacking something inside, something that seemed to come so easily to his family. He desperately did all he could to hide that emptiness, that defect inside him, covering it up with arrogance and ruthlessness.

University absolutely didn’t prepare him to take over the leadership of Uchiha corp. at the age of twenty-four, when their parents suddenly died in a car-crash. He tried to do everything that was expected of him to the best of his abilities. He tried to grieve for a mother who had always been distant and for a father who was never anything but overly strict. He did his best to comfort his brother, who was honestly upset. He tried to prevent the inherited business from falling apart, he tried to make all the right decisions.

Somehow, he kept it together for four years. He worked late into nights, surviving on coffee and cigarettes. His eyesight was rapidly getting worse - an unfortunate family trait that both he and his brother inherited. Too much staring at his laptop screen in an office where he forgot to turn on the lights, too much browsing through numbers as he tried to keep a business he couldn’t care about less afloat just sped the process up. 

Izuna ended up being in hospital again, with a renewed chronic disease and Madara stopped going home altogether for anything else but to take a quick shower and change his clothes. Otherwise he spent all his time divided between the office and the sickroom.

He should have been with Izuna that night when the phone call came. He wasn’t as, exhausted as he was, he fell asleep at his desk. He jerked awake when his mobile rang, scrambled to answer it.

The call was sympathetic, but brief and to the point, informing him that his little brother had passed away. He didn’t cry. He just felt a strange, burning sensation growing in the pit of his stomach. Rage. 

Something snapped in Madara that night. 

* * *

**_The man of the year - Konoha Insider, business edition_ **

_This month we are talking with Senju Tobirama, the CEO of Senju &Senju co. Senju&Senju won the most successful business award last year, providing us with an inspiring story on how to turn an old-fashioned business, well known for the authoritarian management style of the previous leadership, into a modern workplace._

_Mr Senju took over the family company at the young age of 26, after his father passed away and proved that age didn’t have to matter when it is about natural leadership skills._

_“Senju &Senju were known for its very conservative leadership structure and business strategies. This resulted in low productivity and even lower employee morale. With the invaluable help of my advisor - who is also my older brother - we have effectively reconstructed our profile, enhanced our company ethics and significantly improved the collaboration between the different business units. I’m pleased to say that leadership’s rating among the employee base has never been higher. A happy employee is a productive one, which is clearly reflected on our sales numbers in the last two years.”_

_To read more about this incredible success story and the involvement of the mysterious “shadow” Senju brother, please subscribe!_

* * *

He sold the company first. He signed it off as soon as he could, not for the best bidder, but to the Senju&Senju. He didn’t even go to the negotiations, he let his representatives deal with it. He only went to the final sign and shook hands with a strict looking, white haired, but surprisingly young man. To both his relief and disappointment, Senju Tobirama looked nothing like his older brother. 

He emptied the family home next. The paintings, the sculptures, the furniture, they all had to go. He sold his mother’s designer clothes and his father’s antique weapon collection. He sold the house itself and the other estates that were on his name. He only kept one of the sports cars and the penthouse he and Izuna had been living together in the last couple of years.

He then went and did his best to live his life the exact opposite way of how he had been told he must.

The tabloids went mad over him. He never minded the interviews, the paparazzi, the speculations. Night after night, he gave them plenty reason to write about him. He drank heavily. He tried drugs, working his way up from pot to cocaine. He attended parties not only to dance and to flirt but to pick fights as well. He had sex with a new guy almost every week. He was scandalous, insulting, offensive, indecent. He threw it all into everybody's face.

There was a photo taken of him in one of the clubs that made it to many of the papers, websites and TV spots. He was dressed in nothing but skinny dark pants and knee-high boots in it, his other clothes lost somewhere during the night, as it tended to happen. His hair reached the middle of his back and stood in every direction. His eyeliner was smudged. There was a trickle of blood on his chin, running down from the corner of his mouth, and more blood that covered his arms and his abdomen. Partially his own, but mostly a bunch of idiots’ who thought they could throw him out of the club. They were mistaken. Madara was laughing in this photo. He had his head thrown back, eyes closed shut, mouth opened wide and laughing, laughing, laughing. His wounds, his head, his _eyes_ were hurting, yet had felt alive, more alive than he had ever felt before. 

He spent three years high on drugs, booze, sex with strangers and the intoxicating knowledge that his father would be horrified to see him this way. But as the time passed it started not to be enough. Something was still lacking. That emptiness was still inside him. 

Not having any other idea, he tried to notch it up even further. There had to be a point when he stopped feeling so hollow. Maybe it would only come in death, but Madara wasn’t sure he minded. 

Part of him wanted to stop. Living this life no longer satisfied him. He started to long for silence, for solitude. But he was terrified of trying to change - terrified that he would fail, that he would find that without the money he burned through, without his extravagant clothes, his makeup and his scandals he would be nothing at all. 

Then one morning he woke up, head and whole body throbbing in unbearable agony. He somehow crawled out to the bathroom and threw up. When he managed to stand up and looked in the mirror, a ghost was staring back. He was sickly pale, his lips colourless. His high cheekbones jutted out, the skin stretched too thinly over them. He knew he lost weight, but he hadn’t so far realised just how much. The dark circles under his eyes were so prominent as if someone gave him two gigantic black hooks.

Considering how his body throbbed in pain, it wasn’t unlikely that someone indeed punched him in the eye. He had a huge bruise on his left side that was suspiciously boot print-shaped. He dragged himself into the shower and stood under the scorching hot spray until he started to feel remotely human again. 

His memories of the previous night were vague at best, but he could recall picking on some funny-looking guy dressed in green. He apparently went too far with provoking the wrong person as the weirdo kicked him across the room. Madara distinctly remembered hitting the opposite wall and getting all of the air knocked out of his lungs. That explained the sharp pain in his back and sides. He surely had a broken rib or two - who knew what else if he wasn’t lucky. 

When he exited his bathroom at last, nude except for a towel around his waist, he realised he must have comforted himself after this unfortunate episode. He found a naked man asleep in his bed and another one on his couch. He had absolutely no recollection of ever seeing them before, inviting them inside or about whatever he had done with them later.

He sat down at his table after he got rid of his unwanted guests and buried his head in his hand. He stayed like that for a long while. This just couldn’t continue. Getting himself killed on drugs or in a fight proved exactly nothing to nobody. He wasn’t any happier than he used to be, his days weren’t less empty. 

“What the fuck am I even doing,” he muttered, but found no answer. “What the fuck am I going to do?”

The disciplined, ruthless businessman hadn’t been him. This eccentric, aggressive spendthrift wasn’t him either. But then who was he? He just hoped he could find the strength in himself to try to find out.

* * *

**_The best places for a night out in Konoha city_ **

_Certainly not as famous for its nightlife as Kumogakure, but Konoha offers plenty of opportunities if you are looking for a memorable night out. You doubt us? Just think about the parties of Uchiha Madara, and you will realise how right we are!_

_Whether you’re after a wild weekend with your nearest and dearest, want to celebrate a birthday, or are merely looking for an experience to remember, here are the fifteen places known for the best nightlife in Konoha._

_Get you booze, have your fill of the famous Ichiraku ramen and hit the night. See our best picks below and let us know in the comments if we missed anything!_

_ -Onto the list- _

* * *

Rehab proved what Madara already knew - that this reality was hell. He went through with it anyway. If he set his mind on something, he didn’t quit or do it with half a heart. Once he was deemed clean, he sold the penthouse and his extravagant sports car and left the city for good. The one suitcase and three cardboard boxes worth of belonging he kept easily fit into his newly acquired little six-years old hatchback. It was mostly Izuna’s stuff, anyway. Madara didn’t feel like keeping much else, not even his old clothes. 

One very early morning in the middle of February he drove down to the countryside to the little village his grandparents used to live in. They had died years ago, before Madara’s wild time in the city. Buying the old house back cost him probably less than what he sold it for in the first place. It was the middle of nowhere, after all. 

The village centre had seen some renovation a few years ago, maybe in an unsuccessful attempt to boost tourism. It had a supermarket, a few smaller shops, pubs and restaurants. Madara’s house lay pretty far outside, a fifteen minutes’ drive from the centre. He had to take a narrow dust road, to find the three abandoned cottages sitting at the end of it. Well, only two of them were abandoned now. He was relieved to realise he would have no neighbours. 

The estate agent handled over the keys to him and shook his hands merrily - he likely didn’t hope he would ever sell this place. The previous owner refurbished it completely, only the old hardwood floor remained. The walls were an impersonal white. The living room now had an open kitchen and the two tiny bedrooms had been opened into one larger space. The bathroom had a shower instead of the tub he remembered and tiles in a shade of blue that was completely unexplainable. When Madara stepped inside, he hardly recognised it from his childhood memories. He might have gotten the place back for a song, but it wasn’t worth more than that.

The only good thing about it was the porch that overlooked the pocket-sized garden. There hadn’t been much change done here. The porch had old, wooden boards as the floor and a gable roof over it to protect it from the elements. A creeper plant of some kind grew all over it. Madara looked it up on his phone and identified it as Virginia. The garden had broken stepstones laid down, an old, garbled tree that Madara had no chance identifying before it grew leaves again and some kind of overgrown hedges. 

The furniture he had ordered arrived before noon, the driver cursing softly as he tried to get up to the house on the little dust road. It was only a microwave and fridge for his kitchen, a washing machine, a bed and a narrow wardrobe to store his clothes in. Currently that meant the pair of jeans he was in, three t-shirts, socks and underpants. 

He drove out to the village to buy the essentials, like bedsheets, feeling itchy to have to go among people at all. He found a second-hand store, where he brought a few ugly, but warm and comfy looking sweatpants and jumpers, as the house seemed cold. They sold some crooked kitchenware as well, so he brought some mismatched mugs, glasses and plates for his kitchen in an uncharacteristic burst of optimism when he thought he might start to eat regularly.

He visited the supermarket and made himself buy more than just instant coffee, at least some cup noodles and crisps. He frowned down at his basket and added a bottle of orange juice, a bag of apples and some yogurt. 

He escaped back to the cottage, glad to close the door behind himself and be isolated from the rest of humanity. He unpacked his goods and decided he was settled in.

He made himself a cup of instant coffee in his microwave, which proved to be just as horrible as he assumed it would be, sat down on his porch and tried to figure out what kind of life he was to live on his third try. 

The night found him still on the porch, wrapped in his new, puffy and ugly but warm coat and two throw blankets to ward off the chilly February air, a cigarette in his hand. Smoking and caffeine were his last remaining addictions, and he didn’t have plans to part with them anytime soon. They helped to comfort him and keep him away from worse cravings.

It was the full moon, and Madara was staring up at it as if mesmerised. He had to accept that he really had no clue what to do, so he decided just simply not to do much. The village helped with that - you could hardly call it a busy or exciting spot.

He started jogging. On the first few times he managed about five minutes before he had to stop, doubling over, wheezing and coughing. After years of him abusing it, his body was hardly up to living healthily again. With the same determination he had shown when trying to live his father’s life and when later he was doing his best to destroy it, Madara slowly started to build his stamina back up. Other than running, he picked up yoga - most afternoons found him on his porch in sweatpants, trying to mimic the increasingly complicated poses that people on the videos he looked up on his phone made to look so easy. 

The folks in the village gave him side eyes at first, but as he didn’t bother anyone, they left him in peace as well. He got a whole wardrobe of unflattering but practical clothes from the second-hand store, did his weekly grocery shopping in the supermarket and warded off any attempts of chitchat with anyone.

When spring arrived, he ventured out to the riverbank, feeling inexplicably nervous about it. His house was about ten minutes’ walk from it and if he wanted to be honest, the main reason he moved here was to go back to the only place he had ever been happy at, however brief it had been. 

He recognised all the old places, although the riverside had changed considerably - they built a narrow pathway to run alongside it and a tiny bridge to cross the river. A little restaurant now sat in the bend, overlooking the idyllic view. Madara was quite dismayed to find all this. 

“Welcome to The Bistro,” a little sign welcomed him when he went into the restaurant, more to sneer at them for ruining _his_ riverbank than anything else. The old lady behind the counter greeted him as if he was her long-lost grandson and steered him to a solitary table on the terrace. Madara had no intention of staying, yet he found himself sitting down, with the strong cup of double espresso that somehow ended up in his hands, surrounded by about a dozen of cats.

He kept going back after that. The coffee was pretty decent, after all. He even toyed with the idea of getting his own cat but discarded it in the end. It seemed like an awful lot of responsibility.

A month passed, then two and three and Madara found that he was - not necessarily happy, but for once, content. He didn’t do much, just went running every morning, struggled with yoga and sat long hours outside his porch or on the terrace of the Bistro, smoking, drinking coffee and wondering about all kinds of things. It was a quiet kind of life. He thought maybe he should do something, like getting a job, but he had many more years’ worth of money left, now that he was hardly spending it on anything, and he really didn’t feel like it. 

He found that he was alright with the places he started to get familiar with, but just the thought of going anywhere new filled him with anxiety. He could talk with the old lady at the restaurant about her cats and the cookies she baked with her granddaughter, but he didn’t have any urge to chat with anyone else. Just going to the village to do the grocery shopping left him breathless and edgy most of the time, although as the local faces grew more familiar, it became easier. As far as he was concerned, he didn’t plan to go anywhere that had a dense cluster of people or where he might be recognised - ever again. 

Madara knew he was becoming a recluse, but he didn’t mind. Before he knew it, a year passed. He enjoyed the solitude. There was nobody to tell him what to do, what not to do. Nobody to pour him another drink or offer him sex or drugs, hoping to get a snapshot of fame from being seen with him. He changed, but he thought this change was finally doing him some good. For someone who always strived towards some grand goal, whether that was excelling all expectations or total self-destruction, it was funny how easily just doing nothing came to him. He was happy to live his life in this timeless, motionless state. Maybe he wasn’t dealing with his issues, just letting them lie dormant, but if nothing poked his traumas in the eye to wake them up, it was the same thing, wasn’t it?


	2. ASSEMBLING

  
  


**_Five natural hair care products that are really good for you_ **

_A good hair day makes all the difference. A switch to a_ _natural shampoo_ _can be a bit stressful. While you have all your DIY solutions, for problematic hair they are just not enough. So is there no hope to find products that contain no parabens, sulphates or the other nasties? Don’t give up - we will show you five great products that you can safely use on even the stubbornest, curliest, fizziest mane!_

_Whatever brand you try, give your hair at least two weeks to acclimate if you’re switching from a traditional shampoo and conditioner. It takes a bit of time for your scalp to regulate its oil production after years of using cleansers that strip your strands with each wash._

_The products on our favourites list are all from small manufacturers selling handmade products._

_ Onto our list →  _

* * *

“Madara? Uchiha Madara?” the deep, unfamiliar baritone dragged him back from his meditative state. Madara was sitting at his usual table with his usual cup of bitter espresso, idly stroking one of the usual cats who slept in his lap. He didn’t feel up to facing any non-usual things, so he took his time before looking up at this stranger who so unfortunately recognised him and walked up to speak with him.

It was such a pleasant April afternoon too. The weather had finally turned mild and sunny - Madara could spend hours on the terrace of the Bistro, watching the water of the river gently flow, the birds that flew by, the flowering trees. Nobody recognised him since he moved here, or more likely, the locals minded their own business and let him mind his own. They never walked up to him to ask if it was him. The few tourists or people who stopped for a break at the Bistro when they passed by never looked twice in his direction. Nobody quite expected to find the hero of the most scandalous tabloid articles to dwell in a no-name little village. 

His looks have changed. He put on some muscle again and gained a bit of weight - mostly thanks to the old cat-lady who owned the restaurant. She insisted on feeding him more than coffee and as Madara found, he wasn’t good at saying no to her. He was still skinny, but his bones didn’t stick out under his skin so prominently. Long gone were the days of expensive, provocative clothing - sometimes just putting on jeans instead of sweatpants felt like a bother he didn’t want to face. He had his small wardrobe full of baggy, unflattering, comfortable clothing. He no longer wore make-up either, of course. He had glasses on - square and thick, doing a lot more good for his poor eyesight that the lenses ever did. The only memento from his old life was his long hair, which he just could not bring himself to cut, despite how annoying it could be, especially when washing it dragged on forever. He wore it tied up in a high ponytail. All in all, he thought he was safe from strangers walking up to him and asking if he was Uchiha Madara. With an annoyed sigh, he peered up at the intruder.

The man was tall, with broad shoulders and a thin waist. A really attractive body, Madara couldn’t help but note, tanned and toned. He had a simple white t-shirt on, tucked into light linen trousers that left his strong arms on display. Madara had a thing for strong arms. As if to counterpoint all this masculinity, he had long and very straight hair, held back by an ugly white hair band that rather ruined the whole look. He was smiling in a way that seemed both nervous and excited. Madara wondered if he would ask to take a selfie with him and whether he should agree to it, just to have that arm around his shoulders. 

“Yes…?” he prompted cautiously. 

“I’m… oh, you probably don’t remember me. We used to be… we played here together when we were kids, one summer. I’m…”

“Hashirama,” Madara breathed in surprise. It was hard to see the scrawny kid with the unfortunate bowl cut in this man, but it wasn’t impossible. He couldn’t stop a lopsided smile to appear on his face. “Of course I… I mean, I do remember you.”

“Do you mind if I sit down?” Hashirama asked, now grinning from ear to ear like the brat he used to be. At Madara’s gesture to the opposing chair, he carefully lifted the cat sleeping there and sat down. He placed the tabby back on his thighs and it settled down, continuing to sleep as if it had no care in the world. Madara rather envied cats. 

“I can’t believe it’s really you,” Hashirama said in a dreamy voice. “I wasn’t even planning to come here, just I stopped here on a whim as I was driving by. I guess it has to be fate, don’t you think?”

Madara wondered if he was flirting and if he should flirt back. Hashirama had become a very attractive man and the earnest, happy smile he kept flashing him was quite charming. He used to find it very easy to pick up men when he was under the influence and free of any self-doubts, but right now, Madara had no clue what to say. Hitting on someone while sober seemed a whole lot more complicated. He was sitting here in his ugly clothes, pants covered in cat fur, holding a half-smoked cigarette. It was hardly his best look. 

How do you flirt with a crush from childhood anyway, someone who you betrayed and ignored in favour of a horrible life?

“It must be,” he muttered in the end. “I come here often. At first, I couldn’t believe they built the Bistro here, but it’s not too bad, in the end. One hundred cats can’t be mistaken, after all,” he pointed at the felines all around. 

“The view is spectacular,” Hashirama agreed without taking his eyes off Madara, who hoped he didn’t blush. What the hell. He _was_ flirting, it was now obvious. “I trust the judgement of the cats.”

“The little beasts,” Madara smirked, but he knew his voice was fond. “Cat Granny spoils them rotten.”

“Cat Granny?”

“The old lady who’s the owner? They are literally her grandkids.”

“Oh, I see,” Hashirama laughed with honest mirth, and Madara’s heart tried to jump out his chest at the sound of it. In that moment he could clearly see his childhood friend. It transported him back to this same riverside twenty years ago. He remembered being a kid, watching Hashirama laugh and wishing he could stay with him forever. He did his best to quickly rearrange his features to be as indifferent as possible. What the hell was wrong with him, blushing like a schoolgirl and wishing he had better clothes on, just because he met this appearance from the past. 

Cat Granny brought a cup of milky coffee for Hashirama and another strong black espresso for Madara. She also insisted they had to try some of the homemade cookies, so they did. Madara wasn’t very good at saying no to her, and Hashirama seemed so dazedly happy, he was likely to agree to any suggestion. 

They chatted about carefully neutral topics for quite a while - about the village, cats and the restaurant mostly, even the bloody weather. Madara barely knew what he was even saying - he was too busy staring at Hashirama. The other man caught his gaze and held it - they fell silent, the air around them growing heavy with emotions Madara struggled to name. There was sexual tension, he recognised that one, but there was also more to it, somehow. It was frightening and exhilarating to the same degree. 

“How have you been all these years, Madara?” Hashirama asked quietly.

He had no idea how to answer that. Hashirama surely knew he sold off Uchiha corp. to Senju&Senju, even if he wasn’t there when they signed the papers. And after that… what were the chances that he never heard about Madara running amok in the nightlife of Konoha for three years? The news about his escapades had been all over the place. He had made sure they were all over the place, after all. 

“I’m quite alright now,” he answered at last, which was the truth, compared to how he had been just a year ago. “Had a bit of a… rough time, huh? But this place isn’t bad, if you are looking for peace and quiet. It helps to… heal. You know? To move on.”

Hashirama reached out and took his hand. He seemed to realise what he did, as he went still and waited for Madara to protest. When he didn’t say anything, Hashirama’s pose relaxed. He squeezed comfortingly.

“I know what you mean,” he said gently. “Being an adult is hard. Not what you expect it to be at all, when you are a kid. I think we could all use the peace and quiet more often. Makes it easier to find yourself, doesn’t it?”

Trying to find himself was exactly what Madara had been doing. His breath caught at Hashirama phrasing it so easily, by his effortless understanding. The cynical part of him mocked that he was being totally moronic about the whole situation. Why the fuck was he so _swooned?_

“How come you are here?” he asked. “Do you live nearby?”

“About an hour drive from here, so neither too close nor too far. I was… It’s really strange, you know? I was driving back from the coastline and thought ‘Oh, I’m way too early, why don’t I take a detour, there’s that place I used to spend time when I was staying with my aunt.’ And that really was out of the blue, like a… don’t laugh please, but like a divine inspiration, or something. You’ve been on my mind for… a while… and then… you were here. It’s like… destiny,” by the time he finished his rambling, his tanned face was flushed hot with embarrassment. He didn’t drop his gaze though, nor did he let Madara’s hand go. 

It was insane. Uchiha Madara didn’t do romance. Not in his previous lives and not in this one. The whole notion was ridiculous. He didn’t believe in fated encounters, in some people belonging inherently together. He didn’t even believe in relationships in general. People were unable to tell what the other was really thinking. There was no way to honestly understand someone else, and without understanding there was no acceptance. Everybody was fundamentally alone, no matter what the movies or books tried to tell you. Madara had certainly never felt any connection to anyone but his brother. Well. He might have felt it once, when he was fourteen and didn’t know better. When he first met…

“Hashirama,” he said the name with reverence. The man smiled at him if he understood everything just from that. For a wild moment Madara thought that this was it. He was going to kiss him, here on the riverbank, close to where they have first kissed as boys. He would then invite him back to his place, where they would have steamy, hot sex and then… then what, he had no idea, but it was hard to imagine, in that moment, that anything bad could come out of meeting this man. 

That was when Hashirama’s mobile rang. They both started, being pulled from their alternate reality so suddenly. 

“Oh shit,” Hashirama said. “This will be my wife. I’m _sooo_ late.”

He stood up and put a few steps of distance between them while he talked on the phone, while Madara’s dream bubble shattered to a million tiny, cutting pieces. 

* * *

  
  


**_Capricorn Monthly Horoscope_ **

**_(December 22 - January 19)_ **

**_LOVE & ROMANCE:_ **

_Passion ignites…at last! In the last months firebrand Mars has been in Aries and your sentimental fourth house, intensifying your moods and feelings. You may have felt like you were on a bit of an emotional roller coaster since 1st April, the start of this cycle. For the record, this transit was four times more intensive than a usual Mars visit! So if you’re feeling a bit motion-sick, we don’t blame you!_

_On 3rd May, the red planet finally moves on to Taurus and your passionate, charismatic fifth house, rebooting your libido and blessing you with the It factor. Now, that’s more like it! Between now and 28th May, Mars will heat up this frisky sector. At the least, it should bring the desire to feel sexy again. At the best? That’s just up to you! Look out for that tall, dark and mysterious man of your dreams! Now is the chance to catch him._

_See you compatibility with other signs here_

* * *

Madara didn’t go running that week. He stopped yoga. He definitely didn’t go back to the restaurant. Instead, he brought ten packs of cigarettes and chain smoked them on his porch. With a willpower he didn’t know he still possessed, he refrained from buying booze as well. Senju Hashirama was not worth getting drunk again, after being sober for almost two years.

He dragged all blankets, throws and pillows he could find in the house and built a kind of a nest of them on the porch. He spent most of his days lying there, staring at the smoke of his cigarette as it curled up towards the sky. He practiced blowing smoke rings, getting quite good at them after a few days. He wondered what it would be like to breath fire, like a dragon, burning everything that got in his way to cinders.

There was no phone call coming from Hashirama, but that was no surprise. When he asked for Madara’s number, he told him something completely random. 

Hashirama had said, “I’m so sorry I have to rush away like this, but I need to pick up my daughter from preschool,” and Madara couldn’t make the effort to tell him to go and fuck himself then and there. 

The worst was how he could only blame himself for getting so carried away over nothing. They chatted, what? An hour maximum, with someone who was practically a stranger. Hashirama was flirting, yes, but it wasn’t as if no other married man flirted with him before. Why had he thought that Hashirama was something else, something special? Madara was as far away from being romantic as one could get. Was he really this lonely, living alone in this old house, meeting nobody, talking to nobody? He must be, if he got so worked up over the first attractive man who showed him some attention. Maybe he needed to get laid, but that would mean dressing up and leaving his house. Maybe he just needed a thorough wank. That seemed easier and the end result was the same, wasn’t it? 

He inhaled the smoke deeply and forced himself to think of dragons rather. He had a few tattoos - all done in his wild three years, of course. Maybe he could add a dragon, to speak of his wish to breath fire. And devour people. 

Humanity, Madara decided, was truly evil. He hated them all.

Someone was knocking at his door. It seemed the pizza delivery guy managed to arrive on time for once. “Will wonders never cease,” Madara muttered, putting out the butt and getting on his feet. The village offered very limited food delivery options, and the pizza place was still the best choice. The problem with bodies was, Madara reflected, once you started to feed them regularly, they kept demanding more food. 

He grabbed the money he had prepared in advance and opened the door. He almost slammed it closed immediately. He would have done, if Hashirama didn’t stop it with a hand.

“Madara, please,” he looked wild. His eyes were frantic and his stupid, silky hair stood up at odd ends, as if he had been running his hand through it. “I tried to call you, but the number you gave me didn’t work.”

“Didn’t it,” he crossed his arms over his chest and leaned against the doorframe, pinning the other man in an unimpressed look.

“You gave me a wrong one on purpose, didn’t you?”

“Now, why would have I done that?” Madara asked with as much dripping sarcasm as he could muster. Hashirama still managed to miss it.

“I guess because I said I had a wife? We got on so well! But then Mito called and I… I thought I would have the time to explain when I called you later. You know, I didn't want to pour all my life story on you right away. I didn’t realise… I didn’t think…”

“How did you find my house?” Madara demanded.

“I, err… asked the old cat lady in the restaurant?”

“And how the hell does _she_ know where I live?!”

“It’s a small village.”

“Why did she tell you then, an…an outsider!” Which he was too, of course. An outsider forever, everywhere.

“Look, Madara, it’s absolutely your choice if you never want to see me again, and if you tell me to bugger off, I will. But I… I really feel we have a _connection,_ even if we just talked so briefly. I always cherished our summer together as boys and to find you again was just too good to be true. But I want it to be true! So, if it matters, I want you to know - I’m in the middle of a divorce. I haven’t been together-together with Mito for two years. I don’t have anyone else either. So. If you want to - that is, I’d love to… go out on a date with me?”

He looked at Madara with deep, hopeful puppy-dog eyes. Madara couldn’t settle on what he was feeling. Embarrassment? Relief? Confusion? Happiness? Bewilderment? Annoyance?

The pizza delivery guy chose that moment to really arrive. Madara probably handled too much money over to him as he left with a very happy grin.

“Come in,” he sighed, motioning for Hashirama to follow him. He split his small Margherita Pizza in two and poured his orange juice into two glasses. He had manners, somewhere, buried deep down, after all. He was also buying time, before he looked up at Hashirama again.

The man had to stop looking at him like _that_. Madara just didn’t know how to cope with it. He was in his baggiest, comfiest sweatpants and a tee that was at least two sizes too large and had a coffee stain on the front. He didn’t brush his hair for days and he smelled of tobacco. Yet, Hashirama was staring at him as if he just stumbled upon something precious and beautiful. 

“Here,” he said, putting down the pizza and juice in front of him on the kitchen counter. After that initial delivery of the essentials, he never bothered to buy any other furniture. The house was empty, but that never bothered him. It wasn’t as if he expected a guest. It was awkward now, not even having a chair to have Hashirama to sit down on. There was the porch with the piled-up blankets, but that was also _his_ sanctuary. “Tuck in.”

“Thank you,” Hashirama smiled at him as if he had just shown him some unexpected kindness. They ate, standing a few feet apart, with Madara’s hip pushed against the counter from one side and his visitor leaning against it from the other. They ate in awkward silence. Madara felt dangerously out of control of the whole situation. Chatting in the bistro had been so easy, but right now he had no idea what to say. Should he ask about Hashirama’s divorce? To be honest, he didn’t want to. He had to do something to get his bearings back. Hashirama was in his living space, in this bare and underfurnished house where Madara never expected anyone but him to set a foot in. Hashirama was eating his food and breathing his air. Hashirama, who just appeared out of nowhere to soothe him after days of feeling very low. Hashirama, who cared enough to drive back to the village, to find Madara and ask him out on a date. All of this was so new and unexpected, he had to find something that he knew how to do, something that gave him confidence.

“So,” he said, swirling his orange juice around in his glass. “Do you want to fuck?”

Maybe he shouldn’t have timed it when Hashirama was taking a sip, as he started to cough violently. He looked at Madara with watering eyes, trying to get his breath back.

“Madara! We have just met and I… do you… I mean…”

“It’s a simple enough question, Hashirama,” he crossed his arms, feeling definitely more in control. “Yes or no?”

“Yes,” Hashirama said simply. No buts, no what ifs. “Of course, I want to - you are gorgeous. I want a lot more than just sex from you, though.”

“I’m not sure how to do anything else,” Madara said frankly. “Let’s take baby steps. Sex first and then we will see how it goes.”

“I’m not sure starting with sleeping together counts as a baby step,” but Hashirama was grinning, rounding the counter. He stepped up really close, waiting for a heartbeat, maybe to see if Madara was okay with all this, before he leaned down to kiss him. Madara regretted not washing his teeth since the morning in that short moment before their lips touched. He had been smoking the whole day and his mouth must have tasted like ash. Not that Hashirama appeared to mind.

It started as a gentle press of lips, chaste almost. Then Madara grabbed Hashirama’s polo shirt, dragging him closer and Hashirama cradled the back of his head in his palm. They shifted, until Hashirama was pushing him against the counter, his lips teasing Madara’s, his tongue seeking entrance. Madara _growled,_ twisting his shirt around his fist, dragging it up, out of the way, to push his palm against his abs. They felt solid under his fingers, all smooth, warm skin and defined muscle and wasn’t that delightful? 

Hashirama was hard already, Madara could feel his cock pushing against his hip through the layers of their clothes. He was kissing him deeply and desperately, he was holding his head tenderly and Madara never felt being wanted this way before. It was intoxicating. 

“Bed,” he gasped, pulling back the tiniest bit. He took Hashirama’s hand and dragged him with him. The bed was barren for everything but a single sheet, the duvet and pillows having been used in building the nest on the porch. Madara decided to be embarrassed about it later. 

They got rid of their clothes in a frenzy. Hashirama’s body was everything he ever wanted in a man. He was tall, with strong arms and wide shoulders, but a slender hip that made him look graceful, like a dancer. He was healthy looking and muscled - he must be the type to workout diligently. He was tanned all over, except between a low waistline and the top of his thighs, suggesting regular sunbathes in tiny trunks, and wasn’t that a thought? He had sparse hair on his chest, and a delicious trail leading down from his navel to his cock, which was long, thick and hard. He was so perfect, Madara felt it was unfair in many ways. 

Madara himself was pale and gaunt. Maybe not as railway thin as he used to be, before he moved into the village, but still mostly just some lean muscle wrapped around bones, under too tightly stretched skin. He had scars all over - remainders of fights he got into while under the influence, mostly. His right arm had a zigzag of cut marks from the time he smashed all mirrors and some windows in his apartment in a drunken fit of rage. His cock lay half-hard in its nest of coarse, black pubic hair, which was in need of a serious trim. 

Madara’s libido had been non-existent since he underwent rehab. He was grateful for it in a way - he knew how lucky he was to be free of STD after three years of fucking any and every man who was willing. Not having a sex drive meant one less craving to resist.

Under Hashirama’s gentle touches, his body was waking up slowly, as if from a dream. He couldn’t even tell when he had sex while sober last - must have been under uni, as he certainly didn’t have the time to engage in any act later, while leading Uchiha corp. Names and faces blurred together - Madara had hardly cared enough of his previous partners to remember them. He was quite sure he wouldn’t forget Hashirama though, even if he might never see him again after tonight. 

This sudden decision to stumble into bed could have been difficult or awkward, but Hashirama made it easy. He kissed his way down Madara’s body, not shying away from anything that was less than pleasing, like the prominent bones under his skin, the purplish bruise on his arm he acquired when bumping too hard into the edge of the kitchen cabinet, stumbling one morning in his pre-coffee daze, the scars or the tattoos. There was one on his shoulder, a non-figurative little nonsense he kind of just discovered on a very hungover morning, without any memory of getting it done. Another was on his left buttock, picturing the traditional symbol of his family, a red and white fan in a dark circle. Madara had found it hilarious at the time to have it inked on his arse. To be honest, he still did.

The only one he really liked was the one on his chest, above his heart. He was sober that time he ordered it. It was cleverly done, looking like an image of an overgrown forest at first, but if someone watched it attentively, they could make out the face of a young boy within the chaos of leaves, thorns and vines. 

Hashirama kissed it all. 

Madara let out a shaky breath as Hashirama’s fingers caressed his sides, ran over his sharp hip bones then closed gently around his prick. Madara wove his fingers through Hashirama’s locks - just as silky as they looked - and dragged his head down for another kiss. He gasped, biting Hashirama’s lower lips as he slowly teased Madara to full hardness. He had warm fingers, calloused in a way that suggested regular physical work. They were firm and perfect around his erection. It was probably these two years of being celibate, but Madara was way too excited from just such a simple touch. He was also fully at his senses, in the present and not just going through the whole thing in a haze. Everything felt more intense than his body had been prepared for. 

“I want to blow you,” Hashirama whispered into his ear and Madara moaned his enthusiastic agreement. He felt like the inexperienced teenager he definitely hadn’t been for a long time, as he fisted one hand in the bedsheet, the other in Hashirama’s hair and concentrated on not coming on his face as soon as he felt that warm breath on his cock. He threw his legs open wide as Hashirama went down on him, and bloody hell, but it was good, it was perfect. Madara swore, a litany of _fuck, fuck, yes, fuck,_ trying to keep still and not to shove his prick down Hashirama’s throat impatiently. Hashirama grabbed his hips and really set to work. Maybe it wasn’t the most skilful blowjob he ever received, but what Hashirama lacked in style, he made up in enthusiasm. Madara had to accept this really wouldn’t last long at all. 

“Hashirama,” he warned as he neared his peak, tugging on the other’s hair. Hashirama raised his head, letting Madara’s cock go with a wet pop. The look on his face - lips red, face flushed and eyes wide and dark with arousal - was enough to trigger Madara’s orgasms. He came in thick sprouts on his stomach, getting some of it on Hashirama’s chin and lips too. He was quite sure at that moment that he would jerk off for this image for the rest of his life. Hashirama stroked him through it, watching him with something that looked a lot like awe. “Fuck,” Madara said again, not even trying to be more elaborate.

“Good?” Hashirama peered up at him and he seemed dead serious, waiting for Madara’s judgement. He couldn’t help but laugh at that.

  
“You have to ask? It was more than good, Hashirama. Now let me return the favour.”

“I don’t think I’ll last at all,” Hashirama said, flushing to an even brighter shade of red. “Do you mind if I just, ahh. Add to the mess on your stomach?”

Madara didn’t mind that at all. Hashirama was close enough for him to see even without his glasses, so he just watched, relaxed and sated, as the other man climbed on top of him, balancing on one hand and his knees. It was exciting in a different way than he was used to, to watch the other man taking his cock in hand and stroking it feverishly. It was a more passive role than he normally liked, but at the same time, it gave him a feeling of power, to do nothing but observe the effect he had on Hashirama. Madara reached up to caress his face, pushed a thread of glossy hair behind his ear and murmured encouragements, “that’s it, babe,” and “you are doing wonderfully,” and “come for me.”

Hashirama did, groaning his name as he spilled on his stomach. Madara’s cock gave an interested twitch at the sight, but he was way too spent to even think about getting hard again. 

“Don’t go anywhere,” he warned when he felt he could move again, groping around to find his glasses that were somewhere on the cardboard box he used as a nightstand. He wiped off the sticky mess from his front in the bathroom, then returned with the wet towel and did the same with Hashirama’s face and groin. “Still don’t move,” he said, and went to collect the pillows and the duvet from the porch. He sniffed at them - luckily the smell of tobacco mostly aired out. 

Hashirama opened his mouth when he returned with them, but Madara shook his head.

“Don’t ask,” and he didn’t. 

He knew that the adult thing to do would be to talk about what they were doing. They were practically strangers, save for a shared summer break in childhood and the brief flirting in the bistro. Madara had been quite determined not to have sex with strangers ever again. He wasn’t too bothered by breaking his rule, though. Hashirama didn’t feel like a stranger, even if he was. 

Madara offered his least beaten looking pillow to Hashirama, threw the blanket over him and crawled in next to him.

“Are you going to stay the night?” he asked.

“If you let me,” Hashirama answered gently. Then, after a beat he grinned. “Does this count as the second baby-step after the sex?”

“Shut up,” Madara muttered. It couldn’t have been later than 9 p.m., but he fell asleep, cuddling close to Hashirama’s warmth.

* * *

[ **_Other things to consider_ ** ](https://www.healthline.com/health/how-to-use-condom)

_Correct condom use goes beyond properly inserting or rolling the condom. You should also keep the following in mind when selecting and using condoms:_

_Size matters. Don’t be aspirational with your condom choice. A_ [ _properly-fitted condom_ ](https://www.healthline.com/health/healthy-sex/condom-size-chart) _is the most effective; a condom that’s too big or too small may slip or roll off during sex._

_Practice makes perfect. Don’t wait to try applying a condom when you’re in the heat of the moment. Try using an extra condom before you need one so you feel more confident._

_Look for alternative materials. Latex is the most common condom option, but condoms made from other materials are available_ [ _if you have an allergy_ ](https://www.healthline.com/health/healthy-sex/allergic-to-condom) _. Look for condoms made from polyurethane or polyisoprene. Lambskin condoms are also available, but they don’t protect against STIs._

* * *

The next morning found Hashirama still in his house. Madara served them breakfast on the porch from the half-empty tin of biscuits he found in the cabinet with instant coffee. He had no sugar or milk. They sat on the hardwood floor as he had no garden chairs either. Hashirama didn’t complain. 

They didn’t talk about last night or what the next day might bring for the two of them, but Hashirama did tell him a bit about his life. He had a small garden shop in the town about an hour’s drive from Madara’s home. He also sold hand-made cosmetics from the ingredients he grew there.

“But we are closed on Sundays,” he said cheerfully, effectively telling Madara it was Sunday. He wasn’t really keeping track of days anymore. Hashirama sipped the horrendous coffee without batting an eye, as he looked out at his overgrown back garden in interest. “It’s a little judge, isn’t it? If you want, I can chop it back for you a bit.”

“That depends,” Madara drawled on a neutral tone. “What is your tariff and who are your references?” Hashirama working on his garden had a whole lot of implications, like Hashirama coming back and then the two of them maybe repeating the previous night again, then drinking the worst coffee mankind could possibly make on Madara’s porch for a second time. It didn’t sound _bad_ , but it did sound _a lot_ and Madara wasn’t sure he was ready. He was just starting to get settled into this new, quiet, solitary life. Where did Hashirama fit into all this, the barely furnished house, the runs by the riverbank, the afternoons where he was just sitting on the terrace of the Bistro, drinking Cat Granny’s coffee and eating her cookies?

“Anyway,” he said, changing the topic, “a garden shop if far cry from working at Senju&Senju, isn’t it?”

“As far as I managed to get from it,” Hashirama laughed. “Well. I have a degree in Marketing and PR of all things - the idea was that my brother and I would take over from the old man, Tobirama on the financial side of things and me… the people side of things, I guess. But I never got on with my father. We had an argument, maybe a year before he died, when he shouted at me that he would never allow me anywhere near the company and I told him I don’t _want to be_ anywhere near the company. So, I stay mostly out of it. Tobirama likes to call me an external advisor, but all I have really done is helping him to build trust with the employees and suppliers. He does overpay me every time he asks me for consultancy. I don’t actually think he needs me and I keep telling him to stop feeling guilty, but… he’s stubborn, really.”

“I met him once,” Madara found himself saying. 

“I know,” Hashirama replied gently. He reached out and took his hand. His touch was warm and comforting so Madara didn’t pull back. “He told me about it at the time. I was abroad and he called me. He was baffled why you were selling Uchiha corp. in the first place. Even more so why you were selling it to him, when he knew he couldn’t be the highest bidder.”

“Because that would have pissed my father off the most,” Madara never talked about this with anyone, but the words came with surprising ease. “I loathed the whole thing, but I was trying to do my best as… as that was expected to me. Izuna - he was my younger brother - thought the company was very important. You know. It has _always_ been in the Uchiha’s possession. It _defined_ us, the same way as the family crest, bad eyesight or rivalry with the Senju did. Izuna was proud to be an Uchiha, so I tried to be proud of it too. Then he died, and I just…” he trailed off, not having words to explain the drive behind his self-destructive years, of feeling more alive than ever before and at the same time feeling so empty still. Of craving more of the pounding of his heart, the bleeding of his wounds, of trying to fill the gaping hole in his heart. Hashirama waited patiently. “I tried something else,” he said at last. “But that wasn’t working out either, so now I’m… here. Doing my best to find myself,” he smiled at Hashirama, echoing his words. “I’m sure you read about those years,” he added as he might as well get over with it. “They had few of my finest moments in the papers.”

“Oh, I never read the articles,” Hashirama looked at him with a straight face. “Just cut out the pictures. Especially those where you weren’t wearing much. But I have to say - reality is so much better than the photos were.”

Madara couldn’t help it, he burst out laughing at that. Hashirama grinned then kissed him. 

Hashirama stayed into the afternoon. Madara ordered them pizza again for lunch, the usual small Margherita for himself and a large monstrosity loaded with ham, mushroom, corn, jalapeno, tomato, onion and pepper for his guest. Although Madara ended up eating most of the jalapeno on it, as Hashirama declared them too hot. They talked about easy topics. Hashirama was chatty, just as he had been in their childhood. He didn’t let any awkward silence seep in. Madara, almost despite himself, was having a good time. 

“Can I take you out to dinner next Saturday?” Hashirama asked, flashing his hopeful puppy-dog eyes at him when he was about to leave. Madara’s insides twisted in panic. A dinner was a date, a formal one at that. It would be committing to trying… whatever they were doing with Hashirama. There would be other people around. Someone might recognise him. Someone might take a photo. He’d need to eat something new, in front of others. He’d need to decline having wine and explain why he was doing so. He wasn’t ready for something so substantially different from his everydays. It was no baby step, and it was unfair of Hashirama to drop it on him like that.

“No,” he said. Hashirama looked surprised by his curtness and then hurt as he didn’t offer any explanation. Madara realised he did want to see Hashirama again, though. “Do you want to come over again, maybe?” he asked, quietly. “Not the same thing, but…” he shrugged. He didn’t feel like promising anything.

“Yes, I’d love that,” Hashirama reassured him. “This was a great day.”

“It was nice,” Madara allowed with a small smile, the horrible tightness easing up in him a little. “The sex wasn’t bad either.”

Hashirama laughed, pulled him close and kissed him. It got a little heated, leaving both of them out of breath by the time they parted. Hashirama was flushed and Madara was close to offer going down on him right there, in his entrance hall.

“How about giving me your real phone number as the third - or is it the fourth - baby step? If that’s not too much,” Hashirama dragged him away from his growing lust. Madara exhaled shakily. Yes, he could do that. He typed his number into Hashirama’s mobile and glared at him when he immediately called it, grinning when he heard it ringing out somewhere in the house.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had a bit of dilemma here, as the boys really should have used protection for oral sex, but I really didn't want to write it. So just a note: if you are not a fictional character, please use barrier protection if you have oral sex with someone you are not sure is free of STI. 
> 
> There's a direct rip of a Healthline article on condoms here, I found it too useful to rewrite it.


	3. MENDING

**_Our story_ **

_I started Leaf Village as a small, one-man business four years ago. Originally, we were focusing on herbs and other edible plants. Soon a range of handmade cosmetics were added to our portfolio. All of our products are manufactured by using our self-grown ingredients. Ask any of our staff and they will be happy to share the story behind them, including the secrets how they are made! If you want samples only, or if you can’t find what you are looking for, we are happy to help. We are continuously improving our products and growing our range, so if you let us know what you’d like to see next time you visit, it will be likely to be there!_

_Last year we opened up our gardening centre. The centre is a gardener’s delight, surrounded by a large variety of plants. Many of these plants are extremely good value and are grown on site making them particularly suitable for the local conditions. Whether you are new to growing plants, or a veteran like myself, you will find your best choice._

_Senju Hashirama, owner_

_ Meet our staff… _

* * *

Hashirama called him on Wednesday evening the next week. 

“Just wanted to hear your voice,” he said and Madara could _hear_ his smile. “What have you been up to since Sunday?”

Madara told him he couldn’t sleep the day before, so he went running early. The riverbank was just waking up and there were still patches of fog clinging to the ground. He saw two fox kits playing in the high grass, so he stopped and just watched them until their mother came to collect them. He wanted to look up what kind of foxes lived in this area, but then forgot about it by the time he got home. He told Hashirama Cat Granny’s tabby finally had her kittens. She was still hiding them somewhere and how it would be three weeks or so before she would bring them out. 

“The old lady asked me if my _handsome friend_ managed to find me. She seemed really pleased with herself when I told her you did. She _winked_ at me. I almost spit my coffee out.”

Hashirama laughed and Madara felt pleased with himself for evoking that reaction. In exchange, Hashirama told him about the type of customers he had. He was a good storyteller, but Madara suspected he was more into the story than recounting the events as they happened.

“You either have your shop in the middle of a mental asylum or you are a liar, Hashirama,” he accused.

“I swear it is the truth! These small scale, organic products sometimes attract, you know, New Age people. And witches.”

“Witches.”

“Yes, but… alright, you are not going to believe me, but I swear this is exactly how it happened. I have this regular customer, a very strange person. I thought they were a witch or something like that. From a sect, for sure. Very strange clothing, very strange makeup, very strange way of speaking. Came in first for hair care products and as they worked out well for them, they kept coming back. And I don’t mind, they are a regular, after all. We often talk about plants and stuff and they are smart, but… creepy, really. They came in today with a young guy, who they said was their assistant, and I thought - _oookay_ , so that is like a witch and a familiar? We were chatting and they suddenly said, on this hypnotic, low, hissing voice they have, ‘Mr Senju, I can tell just by looking that you have exceptional genes. Did you ever consider donating your DNA for scientific research? We could do wonders, using your cells.’ It turned out this customer of mine is not a witch at all, but some kind of a genetic engineer and the guy in the glasses was their lab assistant!”

“So, they have just asked for your DNA like that?” Madara laughed, still not believing this story of the mad scientist in weird makeup, but being entertained by it, nevertheless. He was lying outside on his porch, phone on his ear, watching as the stars blinked up on the darkening sky. “That must be the strangest pick-up line I’ve ever heard.”

By the time they hung up it was completely dark and Madara was surprised to find they talked for more than two hours. Hashirama said he would be around at seven on Saturday. Madara lit a cigarette and carefully analysed his feelings about this. There was the anxiety he expected - someone will be invading his space, disrupting the quiet silence of it. Madara would have to watch how he behaved, what he said. Hashirama might be staying the night again, so it would be the socially expected behaviour of him to serve him dinner and breakfast. That meant going for a larger shopping trip he usually went for, and not just to the supermarket but to the pharmacy as well. New people to meet, new things to do that he wasn’t used to.

On the other hand, Hashirama was _fun_ in a very easy way. He seemed to be okay with Madara’s quirks so far and while he _was_ pushing him, he seemed to understand when Madara said no. There was the way he looked at Madara and the way he laughed. There was the gentle, understanding look in his eyes. There was his body under his old-fashioned, ill-fitting clothes, strong and attractive. Hashirama coming over very likely meant having sex with him again, and while Madara didn’t know how to talk to people, he knew how to fuck them. 

He took another drag of his cigarette, inhaling the smoke deeply. He wondered if Hashirama smoked. It was unlikely - he seemed to be a bit of a health guru. He wondered if Hashirama recognised the cigarette burn marks on his thigh for what they were, when he was kissing his way down on his body. If he did, what did he make of them? What would he say if Madara told him he could remember putting the butts out on his own skin, one after the other? If he told him how it didn’t hurt the way it was supposed to hurt and how upset that made him, fearing that if even pain lost its edge, he would very soon not feel anything at all.

That was shortly before rehab. He had been so desperate to _feel,_ it was rather ridiculous of him now to get scared of these emotions Hashirama was waking up in him.

* * *

**_“You are in good hands”_ **

_“Participating as a clinical trial volunteer was more fun than I expected! You know you are working for a good cause and that the researchers are all there to keep your best interest in mind. It gives you a positive boost, both mentally and physically._

_The head researcher is an exceptional person. He talked to me about all the potential abilities my body has and everything genetic engineering can bring out in it in the near future. Such a highly knowledgeable man. Surprisingly, I also learned a lot about snakes, the potential use of snake venom and their regenerating abilities._

_Last but not least, I made a very good friend at the centre. I hope to participate again soon!”_

_Kimimaro (23)_

_Considering applying as a trial volunteer? Contact Yakushi Kabuto at the Hidden Sound Research Centre for more information._

_ Contact details _

* * *

Madara took a long and very thorough shower after his morning run on Saturday. His hair took bloody ages to dry, his small, cheap hairdryer not up for the job at all. There was a point when he considered just chopping the whole thing off, but of course, he didn’t. But, not to let the effort he put into finding the scissors go to waste, he did trim his pubic hair. Just to make Hashirama’s job easier in case he wanted to blow him again. 

His small hatchback gave him a fright when the engine didn’t want to start, but after a bit of cursing and begging it saw reason. He hadn’t been in the village centre for a while, having most of his meals at the Bistro or ordering from the pizza place.

The drive, of course, was uneventful and short enough that Madara hardly had the time to get nervous. The impersonal surroundings in the supermarket made shopping easy. He brought readymade salads for dinner, bread and butter for breakfast. He considered a coffee machine, but just got a tin of better-quality instant coffee in the end. Some milk and sugar for Hashirama. 

He then ventured over to the pharmacy, to buy lube and condoms. A regular sized pack for himself and large ones for Hashirama. Who knew what the night would bring, it was better to be prepared. That left him with twenty-four pieces in total, which meant he didn’t have to come in here again for a long while, thankfully. The blond girl behind the counter was wide eyed and red faced when he paid for his purchases. 

“What?” he snapped, and she squeaked “Nothing, Mr Uchiha,” quickly putting the goods away into a bag. Madara glared at her - he certainly didn’t introduce himself - but she just smiled back. What an annoying woman. 

He took _another_ shower in the afternoon and tried out the lube. While he didn’t know what the night would bring, he knew what he wanted it to bring. Madara hadn’t been penetrated for years and Hashirama was rather large. He tried to be pragmatic about it, but still felt silly as he put one leg up on the bed, reached behind himself and started to work on loosening his hole. He got into it after a while, his cock perking up in interest as the tight ring of muscle relaxed and Madara could brush his fingers against his prostate. He did not finish himself off though - he could leave that to Hashirama.

He found a new pair of boxers in the back of his wardrobe. He dragged them on after his erection wilted down, along with his only decent pair of jeans. After some searching, he found a dark blue t-shirt that wasn’t horribly oversized or coffee stained. It had to do. 

He combed his hair back into a ponytail with his fingers. The only mirror in the house was a crooked old piece above the sink that Madara used for shaving. He leaned in close, taking a long look at his face. He frowned, not very keen on what he was seeing. Tired and pale and still too thin. His square glasses with their thick, dark frame dominated the view. He took them off and leaned in even closer to the mirror. Should he buy contact lenses again? Maybe an eyeliner? Did Hashirama like men in makeup? He was joking when he said he cut the pictures of Madara out from magazines, didn’t he? 

“Stop being an idiot,” he told his reflection sternly and put his glasses back on. 

He had a quick smoke before he brushed his teeth. He fluffed up the pillows on the bed then put away the coffee cups from the dryer. He still had half an hour to go till seven. 

He groaned and went to lie down on the floor of porch, getting dust all over his best clothes and freshly washed hair. He was so wired up, he felt he might scream. If Hashirama knew what was good for him, he would arrive early.

Hashirama arrived five minutes before seven, wearing a short-sleeved shirt of some abhorrent colour - cream, or light yellow, or whatever, tucked into brown linen trousers. He had the ugly, white hairband on. Madara didn’t care, as his whole face lit up when he looked at him, eyes roaming over his form. It made all the fuss earlier the day suddenly worth it. He held up a canvas bag. 

“Madara! I brought…”

Whatever Hashirama brought had hit the floor with a thud, as Madara launched himself at him, pushing him up against the door and kissing him fiercely. Hashirama kissed back, one hand on Madara’s nape, the other on his arse. Madara dragged the shirt out of his pants to push his hand underneath, scraping nails over his stomach, up on his chest, rubbing his nipples. Hashirama groaned, yanking him even closer and grinding up against him. 

“I was thinking about sucking you off before you left last week,” Madara whispered into his ear. He took the lobe between his teeth and bit down on it gently. “Here, against the door.” Hashirama whimpered. “I kept regretting that I didn’t, so I’m going to rectify that mistake now.”

He cupped a hand against Hashirama’s groin, fent him hardening under his fingers. He undid his belt one handed - an old party trick he never thought would come handy again. He drew his cock out through the slit on his underpants and the fly of trousers. He kept kissing and biting his neck as his hand moved swiftly, stroking him to full hardness. It didn’t take any time at all. Madara was lightheaded with the power he had over this man. 

“Madara, wait,” Hashirama touched his face, just as he was about to go down on his knees.

“Are you going to tell me to stop, Hashirama?” he raised an eyebrow at him.

“Oh my god, _no_ ,” Hashirama laughed nervously, eyes impossibly wide and dark with lust. “But surely you’d rather do this somewhere more comfortable?”  
  
  


“What part of ‘here, up against the door’ did you not get?”

“Oh… Okay then,” Hashirama’s voice was weak, as he watched Madara slide down, crouching back on his heels. He kept eye contact as he steadied himself, clutching Hashirama’s hips, leaned in, and took his cock into his mouth.

Madara was good at this and even more, he liked doing this. He knew some men thought they had power over him, when he was kneeling in front of them, sucking their dicks, but it was the other way around, really. They were the ones exposed before him, he was the one controlling their pleasure. It was the easiest form of sex, one where he could get up and leave any time he wanted. He wasn’t even undressed most of the time. 

Madara liked to be in control because it was a novel thing in his life. He spent his youth letting his family dictate his life and after that he loosened the reins completely, going with the flow, doing everything on a whim. 

He liked the effect he had on Hashirama, too. The man suddenly walked into his life, upsetting his carefully achieved equilibrium with his carefree laugh, deep eyes, wide shoulders and stupid, silky hair. It was reassuring to see him lose his composure. Madara wasn’t alone, losing his balance in this situation. 

Madara was out of practice, but some things you never forgot, like riding a bicycle or sucking dick. He relaxed his throat, letting Hashirama’s cock slide down deeply, sucking with intent. He scraped his teeth lightly against the head when he bobbed up, pushing his tongue against the thick vein running on the underside. Hashirama moaned in a way that belonged to a porn movie, then slapped his hand over his mouth in an embarrassed sort of gesture. Madara chuckled around his cock, looking up at him from under his lashes and did it again, with more force this time. Hashirama’s head hit the door with a thud and his hips shuttered forward, pushing his cock down more deeply into Madara's throat. 

He didn’t last very long, which was a small blessing as Madara’s knees and neck were starting to ache. He was getting too old for having sex on the floor. Hashirama warned him by saying his name urgently. “I’m close,” he added breathlessly as if it wasn’t obvious. Madara just hmm-ed and sucked him down again. 

Hashirama came, spilling down his throat, on his tongue as Madara eased off a bit. He didn’t waste a single drop, only letting Hashirama’s softening cock go when he had nothing left to give. He tucked him back into his pants and scooted back on his heels. Hashirama slid down against the door, long legs stretched out in front of him, looking quite boneless. Madara grinned in a smug sort of way. Hashirama waved his arm and Madara went to him, letting himself be embraced close.

“Thank you,” he said in a shaky voice, “for this welcome.” 

“I wasn’t planning on this - guess I got a bit carried away,” Madara confessed. Hashirama kissed him and didn’t seem to mind his own taste on Madara’s tongue.

“Let me return the favour,” he whispered. “But maybe in bed?”

“The bed might be a good idea,” Madara allowed. He stood, cracking his neck and back, and held out a hand for Hashirama. 

After the frenzy in the entrance hall, they proceeded at a slower pace. Hashirama undressed him, taking the same care as last time to kiss his skin everywhere as it was uncovered. Madara’s quiet gasps filled the room as he was laid back on the bed and teased with tender caresses and affectionate press of lips. 

“What would you have me to do, Madara?” Hashirama whispered against the sensitive skin of his abdomen.

“That depends,” he might have made a mistake of getting Hashirama off already, he realised. “When do you think you can get it up again?”

“I’m halfway there already,” at his disbelieving stare, Hashirama flushed red.

“Really?” Madara pushed himself up on his elbow to look down and confirm that yes, really, Hashirama’s cock was starting to curve up towards his stomach already. “I thought that was kind of impossible past teenage years.”

“It never took me, ahh… too long and with you it’s different as well. I’ve been thinking about you the whole week and… look, it’s nothing _abnormal,_ I don’t think…”

Hashirama hid his hot face, pressing it into Madara’s concave belly while Madara shook with silent laughter, a dangerous kind of fondness bubbling up in his chest.

“I wasn’t _complaining,_ merely surprised,” he reassured the other. “Have you touched yourself as well this week? Thinking about me?”

“I might have,” Hashirama muttered, still not raising his head. Madara caressed his hair, scratching his nails against the other’s skull gently. 

“How many times?”

“...a few times?”

“How many times, Hashirama?” he tightened his hold on his locks, laughter threatening to spill out from him again.

“Every night,” Hashirama finally looked up at him, expression caught between somewhere embarrassed and playful. “And once or twice in the morning as well, while taking a shower.” Madara was now impressed _and_ flattered. 

“And what did you imagine, Hashirama, while you stroked that thick cock of yours?” he murmured. “Did you picture me sucking you off, like I just did? Did you think about coming all over me, like last time? Hmm? Do you want to mark me with your cum again? Do you want something else?”

“God, Madara, you are killing me,” Hashirama whispered, eyes glazed over.

“What’s wrong?” Madara smirked. “Not so chatty now?”

“I… ahh. Maybe it’s the right time to confess that I haven’t done too many things? With other men?” Madara had figured as much. He was confident Hashirama was a fast learner.

“How about this then? I was thinking how I would like you to fuck me. Would you want that?”

“Yes,” Hashirama kissed his stomach. “Do you even have to ask?”

“Good,” Madara reached out and took the lube from the top of his cardboard-nightstand. “I tried to prepare myself earlier, but I’ll need to relax more for you. Help me with that, will you?”

Hashirama really had to stop looking at him like that, he thought, as if Madara was something precious. He had no idea what to do with that look, so he busied himself with getting ready. He lifted his hips up and pushed a pillow under himself, opening his legs wide. Hashirama seemed to be familiar with this part - he warmed some lube in his palm before carefully breaching the still tight ring of muscle. 

The first finger slid in easily enough, but two were a tighter fit. Hashirama worked him patiently, laying butterfly kisses on his thighs, belly, on his knees. He kissed smooth skin and old scars as well. The third finger burned a bit, and it also wasn’t enough. Madara lost his careful composure and he started to thrust back on them, gripping the sheets, biting his lips to keep back his moans. 

“Hashirama,” he gasped, “I hope as hell that you are ready, because I need you, _now.”_

Hashirama was ready. He rolled on a condom and lubed himself thoroughly. Madara raised his legs, opening himself up. Hashirama sank into him slowly, with careful little thrusts. There was a stretch, but it wasn’t painful. Madara took a few deep breaths, willing himself to relax.

“Come down here,” he murmured, pulling Hashirama to him for a kiss. They started slowly, carefully moving together. “I can take more,” Madara murmured into his ear when he felt accustomed to his girth. “Give me more, babe.”

Hashirama groaned, snapping his hips in sharply, lifting Madara’s backside higher. He slid in deep, and Madara moaned, holding onto his strong arms and moving back to meet his thrusts. 

Hashirama fucked him, deeply and thoroughly. Madara entwined his ankles behind the top of his thighs, pulling him in even closer. Hashirama shifted, getting his knees under Madara, lifting him up until his weight was resting on his shoulder blades. The man was a born genius, Madara decided, as from this angle his thrusts hit right against his prostate. He might have shouted out his pleasure, as Hashirama slowed.

“Don’t stop, for the love of… don’t stop, Hashirama. Do that again.”

Hashirama picked up tempo again, hammering into him, and Madara found himself just hanging on for the ride, gasping “yes” and “harder” and “again”. Hashirama obeyed. Madara thought he wouldn’t be able to walk straight for days after this, but he couldn’t care less. He loosened his death grip on Hashirama’s arm and reached down to stroke his cock. Hashirama’s eyes were wide as he watched his movements. Madara, too far gone to say anything sexy or provocative or even just coherent, gasped.

“Gonna cum. Fuck… watch me, watch me come, Hashirama.”

He spilled onto his stomach and chest, stroking himself through his orgasm. Hashirama kept going, eyes still open and mesmerised. Madara was sensitive now, coming down from his peak, but it would have been hard to mind. He encouraged him with soft words, caressed his hair, clenched around him. Hashirama came for the second time that evening, groaning his name. He collapsed on top of Madara, and they just lay there for a moment, naked, sweaty and heaving. Hashirama would need to go and dispose of the condom of course, and Madara had to wipe his own cum from his chest, but if he could have chosen, Madara would have been happy to stay in that moment forever.

* * *

**_Lunch with cats: The Bistro (Soraku valley)_ **

_Soraku is a picturesque if remote place near the border with Waterfall. The scenery is idyllic - green and lush forests, gentle hills and steep cliffs. It’s not a popular tourist spot, so if you are looking for some quiet, relaxing time to spend in nature, like we did, it might be just the place for you._

_Dining-wise, your choices will be limited. We were recommended “The Bistro” which turned out to be -shocking!- a little bistro of the traditional kind._

_Run by the owner? Check. We were greeted by an elderly lady who steered us away from the table we first wanted to sit at, claiming that’s reserved for a regular customer. Our server turned out to be her granddaughter._

_Simple but delicious, very much “homemade” food? Check. Menu for lunch included the soup of the day, sandwiches and the best cookies we had since we visited granny._

_Affordable but good quality? Check. All food was from simple, but good quality ingredients, made with obvious love and care._

_Patterned tablecloths, crooked, mismatched cutlery, flower in a vase on the table? Check. Everything was squeaky clean and lovely though._

_Cats on the terrace? Check. Maybe a bit too many of them! They were everywhere, but none of the guests seemed to mind, so we did our best not to mind them either._

_Our score? 8/10. We are staying in the area for a week and will be definitely coming back for more cookies. Maybe we will be allowed to sit at the best table, as returning guests._

_ See the photos _ _of the place, the food and of course, the cats!_

* * *

“How come you married in the first place?” Madara asked. “No offence, but you seem pretty gay to me.” He brought the pre-made salads to bed and they ate them with the little plastic forks the supermarket packed with them. Definitely not a five-star meal, but both of them were hungry after their orgasms. In Hashirama’s case, two of his orgasms. 

He found Hashirama’s bag near the door, containing some cheese crackers, fruit and a bottle of wine. The crackers got morsels everywhere, but they still ate them in the bed. Madara put the wine away, hoping Hashirama wouldn’t ask him to open it. 

“I didn’t really figure out that I was for a long time.”

“Really?”

“Really. I mean… all my classmates were wanting to get a girlfriend, so I did as well. And girls were nice, you know, I always got on really well with them. Later, if the sex was just missing something, I thought it was just me. Well… I guess it was me,” he chuckled, “I just didn’t realise what I was missing.”

“We kissed when we were fourteen,” Madara pointed out. 

“I remember that! I never forgot, Madara. But it didn’t seem to matter a whole lot to you, so I thought that surely, I was just making it too much of a deal. It was easier to go with the expectations.”

That took Madara by surprise. He assumed Hashirama lived his whole life the way he was as a kid. Strong-willed, determined, never choosing the easy way out of any situation. He wasn’t sure if he should feel disappointed or relieved that he wasn’t the only one with stupid decisions.

“I thought you are a rebel.”

“Am I? In some ways, I guess. But I found it easier to rebel against my father than against the expectations of my peers. I just didn’t know how to tell them - how to admit to myself even, that I was more interested in checking them out in the locker room than the boobs of the girls on the volleyball team.”

“You pervert.”

“You didn’t?”

“Of course, I did. Locker rooms are every little queer boys’ heaven and hell,” Hashirama laughed and kissed him and they got distracted.

“I moved to Land of Whirlpools for a few years and met Mito there,” Hashirama continued after a while. “She is smart, pretty and passionate, and I thought, here’s this girl, I should do my best to love her. Before I moved back home, I proposed, and she said yes.

Our marriage wasn’t bad, but I couldn’t really be happy. Something was always missing. After our daughter was born, I kept making excuses why I didn’t want to have sex… then better late than never, I finally sat dawn to figure out why is that. I told Mito that I was probably gay.”

Madara rolled his eyes at him.

“No shit.”

“Well yes. She was angry, of course. We decided to separate and see how that goes. I went to gay clubs and tried picking up guys. Signed up to dating sites. The sex was definitely better than ever before, but I had to accept that casual sex isn’t really my thing and the men I met hardly wanted anything more. I told Mito I wanted a divorce, as I plan to search for something serious. And that’s where I am now.”

Madara wasn’t sure what he thought about all this. He was disappointed in Hashirama - or rather, in the boy Hashirama used to be - for trying to live such a fake life. But who was he to throw stones? He, the king of bad decisions. 

He also wondered if he was supposed to be “something serious” and if yes, how did that make him feel. They had fucked twice and Madara hoped to repeat it many more times. He liked Hashirama, liked not just his body, but talking to him, and hearing him laugh. He liked the way Hashirama looked at him, even if at the same time it made him feel uneasy, fearing all the hidden expectations behind that gaze. Hashirama agreed to baby steps, but Madara had the feeling he’d take his hand and make them leap into the unknown if he allowed. 

“Look,” he told Hashirama frankly. “I don’t know what to do with the fact you have a kid and a wife you are just divorcing from. But I’m glad you are so slow to catch up, as that’s why you are here with me now.”

“I think I was waiting for you,” Hashirama said with an earnest smile, scaring and pleasing Madara in equal measures. 

* * *

**_How to tell if a relationship is getting serious without talking about it?_ **

_When you’ve been hanging out for a while but haven’t defined your relationship yet, you naturally start to wonder where this is headed. But if the thought of having a heart-to-heart convo to get clear about exactly what your relationship is makes you anxious, well, welcome to the club._

_As Terumi Mei, our relationship expert explains, “Initiating, or even participating in a serious relationship talk can be difficult because it’s vulnerable to put your_ _wants, needs_ _, and emotions on display.”_

_So what do you do if you want to know what’s happening without talking about it? Look for these 12 signs that indicate your relationship is definitely getting serious — or not. Then you can decide if you’re ready for that Talk._

_Scroll down for the 12 signs!_

* * *

Hashirama stayed the night again, and they repeated the morning after, sitting on the porch, talking late into the day. Madara was proud to serve something that looked like actual breakfast and Hashirama looked ridiculously happy with the milk and sugar in his coffee.

“My daughter is staying with me the next weekend,” Hashirama told him when he was saying goodbye in the afternoon. “But if you are free and wouldn’t mind, I could come over on Thursday evening.”

Madara was free of course and he didn’t mind, so they started to set a pattern. Hashirama visited him on Saturdays and sometimes during the week. They always agreed on the day and time, so his arrival was predictable and not too difficult for Madara to cope with. He had to make a few adjustments to his life, like going for grocery shopping regularly, but the inconvenience was worth the gain. Hashirama usually brought them dinner, some takeaway they reheated. He fitted into Madara’s space alarmingly easily, made the house feel like home despite the lack of furniture or personal items.

There were odd moments too, of course. 

One morning Madara caught him standing in his chaotic little back garden. He was barefooted and had the legs of his trousers rolled up, standing on the tiles with their patches of grass that broke through the cracks, carefully examining the hedge and creepers that overgrown the garden wall. 

“At this rate you will swallow the house as well, not just the garden,” Hashirama was murmuring to the Virginia. “We would need to trim you back a bit come winter.”

Madara carefully retreated into the house, heart thumping hard. Winter was half a year away. He wasn’t ready to plan for such a long term.

Another awkward moment was when Hashirama offered to open the bottle of wine he brought on his second visit and Madara had to tell him he didn’t drink, but Hashirama could have a glass if he wanted to. There was a flash of understanding in Hashirama’s eyes and he thankfully did not press or open the bottle for himself. Next day when Madara checked, that horrible temptation was gone from his cabinet. 

He also learned that Hashirama loved yoga and was annoyingly good at it. Of course he was. He insisted they did it together on the porch one morning. Hashirama brought distractingly form fitting yoga pants with himself for the occasion. He kept saying things like “You need to concentrate that your elbows don’t slide away from each other in the Feathered Peacock Pose. That’s it. Do you feel how it stretches your neck, chest and belly?” He kept touching him to correct his stance, until the Extended Puppy Pose somehow led to a messy handjob in the middle of the whole thing. Madara was quite sure he didn’t manage to keep the correct pose, with Hashirama draped over him, his hard cock poking Madara in the arse through the thin material of his trousers. Madara’s pants were pushed down to the middle of his thighs as Hashirama jerked him off until he made a mess on the hardwood floor. It was the most enjoyable yoga session he ever had. 

Time flew, and before he knew it, it was already July. It brought frequent summer rains at first, then heat waves. Madara started to get up at the crack of dawn to go running when the heat was still bearable. He had the time to take extended naps in the afternoons, after all. 

He was coming back one morning, sweaty and pleasantly tired out, just to find a white van parked in front of his house. “Leaf Village - for all your gardening delight”, a cheerful logo announced on its side. Hashirama was unloading some boxes out of it. He was clad in forest green cargo shorts, a white t-shirt and baseball cap with the same logo as on the van. Madara approached with alarm.

“What are you doing?” he asked in lieu of a greeting. Hashirama jumped a little, turning around. His sunny smile spread across his face upon seeing him, as if Madara wasn’t in his sweaty running garbs. 

“Madara! You are up early! Can I have a kiss? I have some presents for you.”

“I’m clammy,” Madara protested but kissed him, nevertheless. Hashirama had his long hair up in a ponytail under the baseball cap. Madara twirled it around his hand. “Is this your work attire?” he asked. Those shorts were silly, but then, Hashirama had the legs to pull them off. 

“It is, do you like it?” Hashirama asked, turning around. 

“It’s horrible,” Madara said honestly. “But it fits a garden store, I guess. Which begs the question - what are you doing here? Slacking off work?” 

“Maybe a little,” Hashirama winked at him. “There are benefits of being the boss at the place. But look. We are doing a garden furniture sale, and I was thinking how you like to spend time on your veranda, so… will you accept these?”

That’s how Madara came to the possession of two garden loungers and a low table. “It’s all sustainable bamboo,” Hashirama said proudly. Madara took a shower while he set them up on the porch. 

These new additions seemed harmless enough. They fitted his porch. He brewed them coffee and they drank it standing, looking at his new furniture. Madara wasn’t ready to sit down on them just like that. 

“I can take them away if you don’t like them,” Hashirama told him quietly, observing him over the rim of his coffee cup. “Or if it was too much. I should have asked first before showing up with them.”

“Yeah,” Madara agreed. “You should have. But leave them for now, I’ll see if I can get used to them.”

He approached the loungers carefully after Hashirama finally buggered off to work. They didn’t show any signs of hostility. Madara sighed, getting annoyed with himself and laid down on one of them. It was… really comfortable. The linen covered pillow engulfed him perfectly. To be frank, it was comfier than the mattress of his bed. 

He didn’t even thank Hashirama, who took a detour so early in the morning before work, just to deliver the loungers, hoping Madara would like them. Hashirama knew he spent literally all his time on the porch, usually sitting or lying on a blanket he threw over the floor. Madara just glared at him for daring to think about him and bringing him a thoughtful and probably expensive gift. And Hashirama was so patient and even apologetic about the whole thing.

“Well, fuck,” Madara said out loud. He didn’t care for feeling guilty. Before he could think twice about it, he went inside to find his mobile, then lay back on the lounger and snapped a photo. “Thank you,” he wrote, “I like it.” He attached the selfie and quickly hit send before he could change his mind. He then laid there for good ten minutes, worrying that sending a photo to Hashirama might have been too much. The man was at work, for crying out loud, the last thing he needed was seeing Madara loitering around in the middle of the day. He likely didn’t want a photo of Madara on his phone at all.

Then his mobile pinged, and there was a selfie of Hashirama in front of a bunch of plants in his horrible baseball cap, grinning from ear to ear and forming a V sign with his fingers for some unfathomable reason. “Sooo glad you like it,” the text said. “You look really good on it <3 Xoxo”

Madara snorted and dropped his phone down on his new table. He couldn’t stop smiling. Damn this ridiculous man. 

He picked up his phone again and took a longer look at the photo he received. Hashirama had kind of big ears, sticking out a bit, obvious with his hair tied back like that and with that absurd cap emphasising it. He looked like a brat, not a thirty-three years old man, more goofy than handsome. Madara opened the browser on his phone, typed in “CEO Senju&Senju” into his search bar and took a look at Senju Tobirama - a good-looking man, despite his strange, white hair. He wore a dark business suit, a pristine white shirt and a tie, completing the look with the serious expression on his face. He looked like the type of person Madara used to do business with, in a previous life. He was sure that if they ever met again, they would loathe each other. “Tobirama is three years younger than me,” Hashirama had said, “but he always felt he had to look after me.” “He is a bit of a control freak, so, in the name of brotherly peace, it’s probably the best that we don’t work together.”

What would such a man say, if his brother told him he was seeing Madara? An ex-business rival, an ex-junkie. A wreck of a man, hiding out in an empty house in a village in the middle of nowhere. Did Hashirama mention to him he was seeing someone? Did he mention Madara to _anyone_ , even without naming him, even just in passing? Was there even anything worth mentioning? Other than asking him out on a dinner that one time and their agreement on baby steps, they didn’t talk about what they were doing at all. But Hashirama brought him _furniture,_ that surely meant _something,_ even if Madara had no idea what. 

He swapped back to his picture of Hashirama. It was hard to believe he and Tobirama were brothers. 

He typed in a message, “You can fuck me on it the next time you come over, but only if you take the baseball cap off, it’s horrible.” He deleted the second half, as it was a lie and added “even in that horrible baseball cap.” He then deleted the whole message and dropped his phone back on the table with a frustrated sigh. 

Hashirama was becoming a problem. 


	4. WOUNDING

**_Scorpio & Capricorn Sexual and Intimacy Compatibility_ **

_Scorpio and Capricorn share a special sexual bond as signs in sextile with each other and due to the fact that Capricorn exalts one of Scorpio’s rulers, Mars. The physical nature of Capricorn will help Scorpio ground their sexual needs with ease. The main problem of this couple is their relationship to the Moon, for they are signs of its fall and detriment. This “agreement” not to be too sensitive and emotional can take a toll on building emotional bonds._

_In general, Scorpio exalts Uranus, and they might be a bit frustrated by the careful approach of Capricorn. It is a good thing they can wait and slowly build up an atmosphere in which their Capricorn partner will be relaxed enough to try new things and experiment._

_The biggest problem in a relationship between a Scorpio and a Capricorn is their emotional contact, simply because they both tend to have emotional problems, dismissing how they feel by dismissing the Moon._

_A lot of deep, emotional understanding is needed for them not to be forced to move even further from their life goal to find emotional balance._

_< < Scorpio & Capricorn Communication and Intellect compatibility | Scorpio & Capricorn Values compatibility >>_

* * *

Garden furniture wasn’t the only thing that showed up in his house. Hashirama asked if he could keep a spare toothbrush, hairbrush, razor in his bathroom and as he was spending one or two nights every week, it would have been petty so say no. One morning he left in a rush as they overslept and Madara later found his trunks under the bed and his t-shirt in the bathroom. He washed them with his own laundry and left them on “Hashirama’s side” of the bed. 

Hashirama also gifted him some of his hand made cosmetics. Madara wasn’t convinced of the effectiveness of anything he understood the name of the ingredients of, but he tried them out to humour him and they weren’t so bad. 

Hashirama brought a pitcher so they could have lemonade on the porch and brought the lemons too. He brought a large bowl of salad one evening and never took the bowl away. He brought a small, red stovetop espresso maker and proper coffee. 

He asked about most things, were they okay to stay? Like his toothbrush or the coffee maker, but some just slithered into his home and stayed, like the bowl or the underpants.

Depending on his mood, Madara felt very differently about this on different days. He mostly found it amusing. He didn’t mind going into his bathroom and finding the extra towel he left out for Hashirama still being there. He was fondly reminded of the man, even when he wasn’t there. 

Hashirama often called during the evenings, talking about his day, his customers, about whatever flowers were in bloom. He avoided mentioning his family, for which Madara was grateful. Sometimes Madara texted him during the day or sent him photos - mostly of the cats in the Bistro. 

Madara really _liked_ Hashirama - except on the days he hated him. Sometimes he woke up in a horrible mood, usually accompanied by a slight migraine, and just despised the whole world. He got angry with these marks Hashirama left all over his living space on those days. Who the fuck did he think he was, waltzing into Madara’s life and starting to change it? Who asked him to bring his presents? Who gave him the permission to try to change what Madara had set up for himself?

Usually his ire flashed up, hot as fire, but then died down quickly. But there were times when he struggled to get his anger under control. When something, starting off as slight irritation grew and grew inside of him, until it developed into a landslide of rage. Madara had learned methods how to deal with these excessive feelings. He learned relaxation techniques. He knew if he took deep breaths and forced his muscles to relax, if he tried to look at the situation with cold logic, he could calm down. If nothing else worked, he could go for a fast, long, punishing run. 

And then there was an afternoon when he was trying to put that bloody pitcher away, but it was too tall to fit on the shelf. His anger flared up suddenly and uncontrollably and he hurled the thing against the hard stone floor tiles of the kitchen. It exploded into sharp shards of glass, few of them cutting into his bare feet as they flew everywhere. That just fuelled his wrath further. He grabbed the glasses, and the cups as well, and sent them flying too. The plates followed. He didn’t have many of them and it didn’t take long at all to empty his kitchen cabinet. It felt eerily liberating to just smash and destroy, disrupting the silence of this life he was living.

He picked up a larger shard from the floor, letting the jagged ends sink into the flesh of his palm. He could go and slash his curtains up or the bed maybe. He wasn’t yet satisfied with this havoc. He could sink it into this own thigh, let the thrill of pain and adrenaline run through his whole body. 

He suddenly dropped the shard, realising what he was doing. He remembered that night, years ago now, when he smashed the mirrors in his penthouse. He had been under the influence, of course. He had so many mirrors, the huge one in his built-in wardrobe, the one with the fancy lighting above it in his bathroom, the one strategically facing his bed in his bedroom. He had looked into them and saw Izuna staring back in disappointment. He saw his father staring back with scorn, the face of his mother, impassive and uncaring. He smashed them all, even some of his windows when he caught sight of his reflection, but he had still felt their eyes watching him. 

He was no longer that man who went on an inebriated rampage. He didn’t have to rely on chaos, pain and blood to feel his heart beating. What the fuck was he doing, destroying his kitchen?

He threw up into his sink, heaving, tears running down his cheeks. When he finally calmed down a bit, he rinsed his mouth and washed his face. He wrapped a kitchen towel around his hand - luckily the cut was shallow. He had to climb over the counter to avoid stepping into glass shards. He crawled out to the porch, curled up on the lounger and took off his glasses, so the world blurred, losing its edge around him. He didn’t know how long he stayed like that. When some of his senses returned, his bleary gaze fell on the small table. It had his phone on it - he started to keep it close, recently. 

He really wanted to call Hashirama. It was absurd, of course. He picked it up, just to check the time. Ten past two on a Tuesday. The man was working. He had no time for talking to a broken mess. He had a life, unlike Madara. What would he say to him, anyway? “How’s your day Hashirama? I just smashed half my kitchen and thought about cutting into my own flesh just for the thrill of it. I hope your customers aren’t giving you too much trouble.”

His pack of cigs and lighter was also on the table. He took out one and lit it with slightly shaking hands. He inhaled deeply, letting the nicotine do its magic and start to calm him down. Then he called Hashirama anyway. 

“Madara?” he answered after a few rings. “Wait a second, let me go somewhere quieter,” Madara heard footsteps and a door closing, blocking out the noise of the gardening centre. “How are you?” he sounded so cheerful. Madara closed his eyes and concentrated on the warmth of his voice. “It’s funny you called, you’ve been on my mind the whole day! Have you been thinking of me as well?” He could practically _hear_ the wink in his voice.

“Hashirama,” Madara did his best to keep his voice even. He wasn’t sure he succeeded “I… yeah. I was thinking about you, babe.” Which was true. His anger got out of control due the pitcher the man brought, after all. 

“Madara? Are you alright?” Hashirama’s voice was suddenly full of concern. Fuck, this wasn’t going well. Maybe it was ‘babe’ - Madara had never called him that outside of bed. Or maybe his voice was as shaky as he felt.

“Of course I am! Look, I know it’s the middle of the day, so I really just wanted…” What did he want? For Hashirama to tell him everything was going to be alright? He couldn’t say that.

“Madara,” Hashirama’s voice was still concerned, but surprisingly stern as well. Commanding. “Tell me what’s wrong.”

“I… nothing. I slipped and broke a few things in the kitchen. It’s nothing,” he managed a jittery laugh. He winced at how fake it sounded.

“Madara…”

“Look, I just wanted to ask if you want to come over during the week. No pressure, of course, just if you feel like it.”

There was a moment of silence from the other end. Madara took a drag of his cigarette and wondered if he just fucked this thing up with Hashirama.

“I’ll be there by half three.”

“What? No! You are working. It’s nothing urgent… you don’t have to.”

“Well, I _want to._ The guys can handle things around here. Just wait for me, alright?” When he didn’t respond, he repeated on that strangely commanding voice. “Alright, Madara?”

“Yes,” Madara agreed, for once finding it easy that he didn’t have to make a decision. “I’m not going anywhere.”

It took another two cigarettes before he felt he could stand up. There were small bloodstains on the linen cover of the lounger - he forgot he cut his feet. He found a tiny glass shred under his left ankle and two near his toes in his right foot. Luckily, they weren’t deep, he could easily pull them out. He had no idea how to get the blood out of the linen though. 

He left that question for later. He pulled on his sneakers, so he wouldn’t step into any more glass and brought out the vacuum cleaner, getting rid of all that mess on the floor. He then washed his face again, wiped the blood off his feet and drank some water from the tap as he had no glasses or cups left. Feeling exhausted, he unlocked the door, so Hashirama would be able to come in and went back to the porch. 

He must have fallen asleep, as the next thing he knew was Hashirama crouching next to his lounger. 

“Hey,” he said softly, moving Madara’s hair out from his eyes with a gentle caress. “Everything’s okay? Did you cut yourself?” he took a look at Madara’s palm and his feet. They had some dried blood on them, as Madara had no plasters at home. 

“Glass,” he said in a way of an explanation. “I broke a few things,” he felt groggy, which was preferable to be fully alert and awake right now. Hashirama’s fingers felt so good on his skin.

“That happens.” Though not quite like this and people usually didn’t become a useless wreck after it, but Hashirama maybe didn’t clue in on all the details. “Do we have to look at any of those cuts?”

“They are nothing serious, really. Just got a bit worked up over it, I guess. Sorry for dragging you here like this. It is really nothing.”

“Hmm.” Hashirama looked quite disbelieving of that. “I’m happy you called. Do you want to go inside, or…?”

“No, I like it here the best.”

“I know,” Hashirama smiled at him. He ignored the other lounger and sat down on the floor rather. He took hold of Madara’s hand and examined the cut on his palm more thoroughly. Satisfied that it really wasn’t serious, he placed a gentle kiss next to it. “Your little garden reminds me of the tattoo on your chest.” Madara smiled. It was one of the reasons he liked the garden. “Do you want to tell me who’s on it? The boy behind the leaves?”

“It’s not a single person,” Madara explained. “It’s the wilderness of life that you have to fight your way through. You start as a child and you can’t know who you will be, as an adult, when you emerge.” The boy on the tattoo was Madara, but he was also Izuna and even Hashirama. It spoke of his wish to find himself, but he also knew he might never emerge from behind those thorns and vines that tore him and dragged him back. 

“That is a really nice thought.”

“Yeah… I’m not sure I’ll ever get out of that jungle, Hashirama. Maybe when I die.”

Hashirama was silent for a while, his thumb running soothing circles on Madara’s hand.

“I’m not sure how good I am, fighting my way through life,” Hashirama whispered. “But I wouldn’t mind doing it on your side, if you let me.”

Madara had nothing to say to that, but Hashirama didn’t seem to be expecting an answer. He kissed Madara’s hand and smiled at him reassuringly.

The afternoon passed in a daze. At one point Hashirama drove out to the village to buy some groceries, new plates and glasses for him. Madara would be embarrassed about the whole thing later, but for the time being, he was glad to be sipping his orange juice. He thought it was a wonder Hashirama still trusted him with glassware. But then, when did Hashirama start to have a say in what he was doing?

They started this, this… thing, whatever it was between them three months ago. What did Hashirama hope to get out of their… affair? How long would he be satisfied with the limited things Madara felt comfortable to offer? It would be fair to tell him it might never become more, but that bore the risk of him ending things right then and there. Madara, selfish as he was, didn’t want to let him go. 

Instead of talking, they spent the evening on the porch, watching cat videos on Hashirama’s phone. When it became dark, they moved to the bedroom. Madara didn’t feel like having sex, but offered to jerk Hashirama off. It was the least the man deserved, after this day. Hashirama blinked at him in surprise.

“Not tonight,” he said gently. “We can just cuddle.” 

That’s what they did. Hashirama had strong arms and his skin smelled like summer and sunshine after spending the whole day outside. Madara inhaled his scent deeply and went to sleep.

* * *

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* * *

Hashirama arrived early afternoon on Saturday. Madara might have been a little worried he wouldn’t come, after his embarrassing performance on Tuesday. But there he was, cheerful as ever, greeting Madara with a passionate kiss. He was also carrying a package. Madara hoped it was no further kitchen equipment.

“I don’t think I told you that I have this hobby? Bonsai cultivating.” He put the package down in the shade of the porch, kneeled down next to it and unwrapped it. It was a miniature tree in an oval ceramic pot. “This is a firethorn tree,” Hashirama said. “One of the first I started to grow. Well, one of the first that I really managed to turn out the way I wanted. I thought you might like it,” he looked up at Madara with his hopeful puppy eyes.

The bonsai was...nice, Madara guessed. It had smooth, oval shaped, dark green leaves, red berries and a surprisingly thick trunk. So far all of Hashirama’s gifts had been practical. He wasn’t sure what to make of this one. At least it wasn’t flowers. It was a perfect little tree, tamed and formed to the shape Hashirama wanted. Madara couldn’t say he was a big fan of bonsai. Trees were supposed to grow large and not tamed down to this tiny version of themselves.

“I don’t know how to take care of it,” he said honestly.

“I can teach you! This one is easy to groom. I started to grow it… must be ten years now. I’d like you to have it.”

“Why?”

Hashirama turned his eyes away from him and looked at the small tree with a serious expression.

“I hope it will remind you of me. That I’m around and that you can… count on me.”

Madara stepped up behind him and Hashirama leaned back, resting his back against his legs. 

“It might be better if you come and look after it regularly.”

“If you don’t mind,” Hashirama looked up at him, smiling. 

“Come,” he held out his hand. “I’m out of coffee, we might as well take a walk and have one at Cat Granny’s.”

Just like that, they left Madara’s house, going somewhere together for the first time. After his impulsive daring, Madara felt a bit of a panic. There were two directions to go - first was taking a detour towards the village centre, walking a bit along the main road before arriving at the Bistro. Madara hated the main road and didn’t like to walk that way. The second route was along the riverbank, the start of his usual running trail, home for a childhood memory that was both precious and painful. 

Hashirama, blissfully ignorant of Madara’s inner torment, smiled at him and took his hand. 

The riverbank wasn’t as abandoned as it had been when they were kids. A little paved path ran alongside it now. There were a few benches in the shades of the trees and the little bridge crossing the water. Further down, after the bend, there was the Bistro. It was a hot, summer afternoon, and they weren’t the only ones taking a walk. There were a few people with dogs, two teenage boys and a girl on bicycles and an elderly couple sitting on a bench under the shade of an old willow tree. Madara knew all of them by sight. 

Hashirama didn’t seem to care that people saw them walking together, holding hands. He was looking around in interest. 

“This has changed a lot, hasn’t it? It’s nice, but… it doesn’t have the wildness and the mystery it used to. Remember, how wet we got when we were trying to get to the other side? Now there’s a bridge and everything.”

“It’s a lot tamer,” Madara agreed. “I was appalled at first, especially when I found the Bistro. But you can get used to it. It’s just shaping nature to your preference - like you do with bonsai.”

“Yes, but…” Hashirama lowered his voice in a theatrical whisper. “Where do young boys make out nowadays? Look, there is our old Wisteria, but the undergrowth is all chopped back. There’s no hiding in the grass now.”

That surprised a laughter out of Madara. Hashirama grinned back. Fuck them all, Madara thought, and pulled Hashirama to him for a kiss. He wondered if the old couple were gossips. He could practically feel their disapproving glare digging into his back. Would they tell everyone in the village the strange recluse, the outsider was snogging another man on the riverbank? Would someone say, “Ahh, you know that’s Uchiha Madara, right? _The_ Uchiha Madara. You must remember all that they wrote about him a few years ago.” Would the cashier in the supermarket give him side eyed looks and would the blond girl in the pharmacy become even more unbearable when he inevitably had to go in again for another pack of L-sized condoms? Then he stopped caring, as Hashirama’s hands were on his back and his tongue was in his mouth and the moment was too perfect to waste on other people. 

“Get a room!” one of the teenage boys yelled, while his friends shushed him, laughing. 

“Sorry, sorry,” Hashirama grinned at them in a way that said he wasn’t sorry at all. They continued walking, hand in hand. 

“Mr Uchiha,” Cat Granny said when she saw them. For some reason she was looking extremely pleased as her glance jumped from Madara to Hashirama and back. “I haven’t seen you the whole week, I was starting to worry. But I can see you were busy! Take a seat, take a seat, Tamaki is just finishing the cookies, they should be ready at any moment.”

She served them coffee and then just stayed around, smiling at the two of them. Madara blamed Hashirama and the way he beamed at the old lady. Anyone would have wanted to stay near to that smile. The tabby and her kittens came to greet them. They were growing at an alarming rate. Hashirama picked the ginger one up and cooed at it. 

“You should take it,” Cat Granny said immediately. She had been trying to get Madara to agree to adopting one for weeks. “He really likes you.”

“Do you think so?” Hashirama asked, instead of instantly declining as any sane person would have done. “I’m not home most of the day, wouldn’t he get bored and lonely?”

“Why don’t you take two of them, then?” Granny asked with a charming smile and Madara had to give it to her - she had excellent sales skills. She sensed weakness like sharks smell blood and went for it.

“Think about it first, before you agree,” he warned Hashirama, taking the kitten from him. “A cat is a big responsibility. Two are even bigger. They will shed their fur everywhere, scratch your furniture and topple your plants over.”

“Madara is right,” Hashirama admitted to the old lady with a sigh. She didn’t seem too put off with Madara blocking her attempts to get rid of two extra cats. “But I will give it a thought and might come back for them later?”

The granddaughter appeared with the cookies, and Hashirama and him were finally left alone on the balcony. 

It was strange, but not in a bad way to sit there, at his usual table, with Hashirama. He was talking about the autumn sale he planned to do in his shop, about the trees that bore fruit in September. He was also showing him photos - mostly of plants, but some of his employees too. The Bistro got busier, with guests at every table. They paid them no mind.

“That’s Captain Yamato, my second in command,” Hashirama said, pointing at a man who was barely visible amidst huge, flowering bushes. “He is almost as good with plants as I am.”

“Captain?”

“One of the part-timers started to call him that and it stuck.”

Madara swiped to the next photo. It had Hashirama on it, standing in front of a massive tree. A little girl with auburn hair was sitting on his shoulders. They wore identical grins. That was right. He kept forgetting - Hashirama had a daughter. There was a pang of jealousy that Madara quickly quenched. Of course, Hashirama had other people in his life. It was nothing to feel resentful about.

“I have the date for the divorce,” Hashirama told him quietly. The Friday after the next. I will be a legally free man after that.”

“Hmm.” Hashirama was looking at him expectantly, but Madara had no idea what to say to that.

“I was wondering,” Hashirama started but fell silent. Madara fiddled with the lighter in his pocket. He tried not to smoke too much when Hashirama was around, but he had the sudden frightening feeling they were heading towards a conversation where he would really need it. “Well, it doesn’t change anything, but I was wondering if we can consider our relationship… official. After I get divorced.”

Well, hell. Madara shook a cigarette out of the pack and lit it, closing his eyes as he inhaled deeply. 

“Official.”

“If you don’t mind.”

“I don’t even understand what you mean by that, Hashirama.”

“I had the feeling you wouldn’t like me to tell anyone about you, so I kept it vague. You know how you always have friends who try to set you up with someone?” Madara didn’t know, so he kept silent. “I told them to get lost as I was seeing this wonderful man, but that’s it. Maybe, if someone asked, I could tell them about you. You are important to me and I really don’t want to keep our relationship a secret. If you are comfortable with that.”

“That's it?”

“That’s it. For now.”

“For now,” Madara echoed, watching the ember of his cigarette, aware of Hashirama’s eyes on him. It wasn’t asking much, was it? Madara didn’t even have to do anything. Hashirama would go and tell people he was seeing him. Surely, many people wouldn’t even connect the name. Others might tell him he was out of his mind, but Hashirama wouldn’t be bothered. He wasn’t Hashirama’s dirty secret. He should feel reassured by that, shouldn't he? But…

“Do I have to tell you that you could do so much better than me?”

“Better? I don’t want better, Madara. I want you.”

“Why?” he watched him through the smoke. Hashirama seemed surprised by the question. 

“Why? We match, don’t we?”

“You mean the sex is good.”

“Well, it is more than good,” Hashirama’s face flushed pink, but he held his gaze. “It’s the most fantastic sex I ever had in my life.”

“Which is because you’ve been trying it with women when you are obviously gay.”

“That’s not it, Madara!” Hashirama was frustrated now and it was entertaining in a cruel way to watch him lose his calm. “We have this _connection_. I… You are very special to me, and what’s between us is a lot more than just sex...isn’t it?”

“Hashirama,” Madara took another deep drag of his cig, trying to find the right words. Why was he doing this, trying to point out why Hashirama shouldn’t stick with him, when he was the best thing that happened to him in… forever, probably, he didn’t know. Madara could be just glad he was stupid and keep his fucking mouth shut. If Hashirama wanted to waste his time on him - well, he was a grown man, he could make his own decisions. Madara never promised anything, so when it all went to hell, he couldn’t be blamed. “This week I crashed everything breakable in my kitchen, and I don’t even know why I did it. And I was very close to… doing a lot more damage than that. And I was scared afterwards, but while it lasted, it felt good, you know? The destruction, the adrenaline, the fucking cuts on my skin. It was a bit like being on crack again.”

“Madara…”

“No, listen. There’s this… this anxiety or panic or whatever I feel every time we do something new, even if it’s just going for a walk as we did today. Do you get it? I’m broken. I’m not going to go with you to… skiing or mountain climbing, or whatever you like to do in your free time. I might not even go out with you to a dinner. I don’t want to meet your friends. Just the thought of you having a kid and a wife or an ex-wife freaks me out. I know I said baby steps, but it might take forever without me getting anywhere. You are a good man. You deserve someone better. You are just out of the closet – you will have all these men to choose from. You should go and find a guy who can give you what you want.”

A single tear rolled down on Hashirama's cheek. Madara refused to feel guilty. He was doing him a favour. 

“You seem awfully sure of what I want,” Hashirama told him quietly. “While _I_ don’t even know. I used to think I wanted a wife, kids, a traditional family. I was wrong. I’m happy when I am with you. I don’t see why that shouldn’t be enough. Are you happy when you are with me?”

“Did you even hear what I just told you?”

“Well, did _you_ hear me just telling you I don’t give a fuck?” Hashirama snapped. Madara snorted - he hardly ever heard him swear before. There was a determined, almost grim expression on Hashirama’s usually cheerful face, and it was… well, it was hot. There was a part of Madara which didn’t mind this man being all forceful and commanding, taking charge. And there was another part which revelled in suffering, the one which liked to make bad decisions that made his own life hell.

“Look, Hashirama,” he said as dismissively as he could. “I honestly don’t think we have much of a chance of understanding each other. We might have been similar, once, but we both have changed. You are already too close and I…” It was going to hurt, when it all ended, Madara suddenly realised. The deeper Hashirama wove his way into his life, the larger the pain would be when he inevitably tore himself out of it. _I want you to promise you will never leave me,_ Madara wanted to say. It was a nonsense thought. “You said you don’t even know what you want.”

“That was actually a lie. I know that I want to be with you. I want to take care of you if you let me.”

Madara huffed a humourless laugh. He wanted that as well. But how could he expect Hashirama not to change his mind?

His cigarette was almost completely burnt down. Should he light another one, to keep his hands occupied? His eyes slid over to the neighbouring table where two women, who he saw around before when doing his shopping in the village, were obviously eavesdropping on their conversation. He scowled at them and they quickly went back to their sandwiches. 

“Why? Why would you go through all the trouble for…” he waved a hand in front of himself, meaning everything, his ramshackle body, his unstable mind, his infamous past. Hashirama seemed surprised but then some mischievousness returned to his face. 

“As I can see it, it’s worth all the trouble.”

“You are delusional,” he finally put the butt out. “I could tell you stories that would make you run.”

“You can _try.”_

“Is that a challenge?”

“Is that what you want, Madara? To make me run? Be honest.” That stern, commanding expression was back. Madara licked his lips and capitulated. 

“Honestly? Right now, I want to go home, and have you fuck me through the mattress, while you look at me _like that.”_ He distinctly heard a squeak from the other table, but he was too busy keeping Hashirama’s eyes to look over there.

“Well then,” Hashirama’s ears were pink, but his eyes were dark with lust. Madara wondered if he was getting hard already. It never took him long. “That’s the first sensible thing you said in a while. I’ll get the bill.”

When Hashirama got up and went inside, Madara took his glasses off and rubbed his eyes. They were stinging a bit, but he refused to cry. Hashirama was staying, but he couldn't trust that to stay that way forever, he reminded himself. It was just… it was just…

“Madara, are you coming?” Hashirama poked his head outside. He was flushed and wide eyed. He couldn’t tell it through the jeans he was wearing, but Madara would have betted that he was aroused. God, what a fool. Madara was dangerously fond of him.

“Not yet, Hashirama, not yet” he said, standing and stretching his back, making sure his t-shirt rode above his waistline as he raised his arms above his head. “But I bet you can make sure I will, soon enough.”

He flipped the two women off at the other table as he left. 

* * *

**_Dear guests,_ **

_Welcome to The Bistro. Our small, family owned and run business opened seven years ago, overlooking the picturesque Sora river. We are open seven days a week, serving you delicious brunch, lunch and snacks._

_All of our food is made in-house and we are proud to say our green tea cookies won the County’s Most Delicious Cookies award last year!_

_You can now order for take away as well, but you are always welcome to sit down either inside or on our balcony. Please mind the cats!_

_Please note: we pride ourselves to be a quiet, friendly restaurant for our regular guests and new visitors as well. Please respect the privacy of other guests. Under no circumstances should you take photos of our other guests without their consent. Take a snap of the cats rather! They love the attention._

_ Breakfast Menu  _ _| Lunch Menu | Contact Us | About the Cats | Gallery _

* * *

Autumn was upon them with still mild, if rainy days but cool nights. It meant waking up later and going for longer runs as he didn’t have to fear a heatstroke. It meant busier time for Hashirama, as there were apparently a whole lot of things you could do to plants in September. His daughter had just started primary school and Hashirama seemed undecided whether he should be proud or panicking about this fact.

“I think you have all the right to panic,” Madara said, pointing his cigarette at him. They were sitting on the porch and Hashirama kept going on and on about how five and a half was just way too early for children to start school. That children should be allowed to be children without other care in the world but running around and playing. Madara found it difficult at first to listen to him talking about his daughter, but he was getting used to it. He could even roll his eyes at him. “I mean, having a kid who is of school-age does make you older. All her friends will consider you an old-old man. Just beware of the single mothers.” And single fathers.

Hashirama groaned, flopping down on his lounger, covering his eyes with an arm in a dramatic gesture. Laughing, Madara left his half-smoked cigarette in the ashtray, took off his glasses and crawled on top of him. The lounger creaked a bit in protest of the extra weight as he straddled his waist, but Madara knew from experience that it could hold both of them. Hashirama moved his arm and looked up at him with an exaggerated pout. 

“Being an adult _sucks.”_

“On the other hand, it does have its advantages, don’t you agree?” He moved his arse around in a suggestive circle.

“I changed my mind, being an adult is brilliant,” Hashirama grabbed his hips and grinded up against him.

“Such a one-track mind,” Madara taunted. He leaned down for a kiss. He had washed his hair early in the morning and he did try out the hair conditioner Hashirama had apparently mixed just for him, using up the whole jar. It did make his hair feel less coarse and make it look slightly less chaotic, but in exchange it was spilling out of his hair tie and tumbling all around them. He really should cut it, he thought, just as he always did on hair-wash days. He also knew he wouldn’t. It was a bit of an experiment, to see if it would ever just stop growing. 

Hashirama freed it from the tie completely and it fell around them in a heavy tent. He pushed his fingers through it, his infatuated expression telling Madara he was about to say something sappy. 

“You are beautiful,” he breathed. 

“And I thought I was the one going blind,” he mocked, but kissed Hashirama’s eyelids to take the edge off his words. 

“You _are_ beautiful _,”_ Hashirama insisted, with the usual frustration he showed whenever Madara dismissed his compliments. 

“You are not too bad looking yourself, either,” he allowed with a smile.

“Well - you are not wearing glasses.”

“Shut up. I’m an Uchiha, I wouldn’t go for anything but the best.”

Hashirama snickered, pulling him close and kissing him deeply. They moved unhurriedly, caresses that became knowing over the months, kisses that were tender but were growing passionate. 

Hashirama’s cock was already hard against his arse. Madara had once went down on the depressing path of thought, wondering if he would become aroused so quickly by other men as well, and if he would seek the company of more lovers once the novelty of fucking Madara wore off. This bore the question if he maybe already did - it wasn’t as if they committed to anything. Madara could hardly bring himself to even talk to people, but Hashirama was a different story. Now that he was out of the closet, surely, he would get a lot of attention. Handsome face, attractive body and a family of immense wealth. He wouldn’t have any kind of difficulties in picking up someone. Someone whole and caring, unlike Madara. He had spent a horrible, sleepless night, getting quite worked up over the whole thing. But then he called Hashirama the next day and was greeted with so much happiness that Madara realised he was being stupid. He did ask, just in case, if he was or planning to see anyone else but him.

“Look,” he had said, voice steady with cold logic. “It’s not that I expect faithfulness or any other romantic bullshit like that. I just like to know what to expect. As long as you are frank with me, I will have no hard feelings.”

He had managed to upset Hashirama quite a bit at that time. He thought Madara wanted an open relationship, which was ridiculous. The last thing Madara wanted was any kind of interaction with other people. He also insisted that faithfulness was no bullshit and that he was no philanderer. 

Madara would have regretted bringing up the whole thing, except he did feel reassured. There was a conversation for the future about unprotected sex - which would have many pros, for example saving him trips to the pharmacy. While the regular pack of condoms Madara brought months ago was still unopened, they kept running out of the large sized ones surprisingly fast. Madara’s relationship with the pharmacy girl was contradictory to say the least.

On the cons side there was the need to talk about it and testing for STI, not to mention continuing to trust Hashirama to remain monogamous. So, that was a thing to consider at a later time, if ever. For now, he was just happy to keep snogging on the porch and testing the durability of Hashirama’s sustainable bamboo lounger.

“Should we go inside?” Hashirama asked him, flushed and eyes so impossibly dark with desire.

“No, just… stay here. I’ll grab the lube and the condom. Don’t move.” Madara clambered off him, groping for his glasses. Hashirama’s face came into focus. He looked amused. 

“I hope you will never get neighbours.”

“If I do, we have to make sure to chase them away.” His house sat outside the village, with only two neighbouring houses that had been abandoned for a while now. Madara considered buying them, just to ensure they remained so.

Madara had a proper nightstand now, not just an empty cardboard box, as Hashirama brought it one day. Brought two, actually, for both sides of the bed. It was hard to argue their practicality over a bottom-up box. He quickly got what he needed from the drawer and hurried outside. Hashirama was already getting out of his trousers. 

“Told you not to move,” Madara swatted his hands away, and pushed him down on the lounger. Hashirama obeyed with a grin. Madara dragged his underpants down over his stiff cock. It was already curving up against his stomach with that little bend to the left that Madara secretly adored. He gave it a chaste kiss on the underside of it, before straightening and getting rid of his own jeans and underwear. As usual he wasn’t hard yet - but he knew he would get there soon. The t-shirt remained - it was no longer that warm outside, after all. 

“Do you think the lounger will break?”

“Bamboo is sturdy,” Hashirama reassured him. 

Madara rolled the condom on him, applying a generous amount of lube, before straddling him again. Alarm suddenly replaced the flushed look of arousal on Hashirama’s face, as Madara kept him steady, positioning his cock at his entrance.

“Madara, wait, we need to get you prepared first.”

“Hush. I can take you like this. We just need to take it slow. It’s a test for you, to see if you can stay still and let me get adjusted. Now, be a good boy.” 

Hashirama groaned, as much in frustration as in lust, watching Madara intently as he moved, letting just the tip of his cock breach his hole. They were having sex for long and regularly enough for it to work, but Hashirama was also quite big. He stopped to apply lube many times, and slowly, oh so slowly he managed to take Hashirama in. It was still a tight fit - Madara took a deep breath, trying to relax. Hashirama’s fingers were like vice around his thighs, but he was keeping still as was told. 

“So good for me, babe,” Madara praised, his voice hoarse with these _feelings_ welling up in him. “I’m going to ride you now and you don’t have to do anything. Just lie there and take it, can you do that for me?”

“Anything, Madara,” Hashirama’s voice was equally throaty. Madara was almost fully hard by now, despite the still uncomfortable stretch. Hashirama looking at him _like that_ was the best turn on. Maybe he should wear his glasses more often during sex, to see him clearly. He balanced himself with a hand on Hashirama’s chest, raising up slightly before sinking down on his hard cock again. 

Sex with Hashirama was always good, and not just for the obvious reason, for the physical satisfaction of it. He felt _connected_ to this man, and that wasn’t as much of a scary thought as he would have supposed it to be. He felt safe with him. They did play rough, when in the mood, but Hashirama was never hurtful, selfish, or uncaring. Madara knew that it would only take a word from him and Hashirama would stop, whatever they were doing. He was never one to trust people, so it was strange how he did so now. 

Madara moved with rolling movements of his hips, fucking himself deeply on Hashirama’s cock. The other’s hands now roamed his body where he could reach without sitting up, his legs, his side, the top of his buttocks. Madara hooked his fingers and scratched Hashirama’s nipples playfully with his nails. Hashirama bucked up into him with a sharp upward thrust that he couldn’t help. Madara smirked and did it again.

“Madara, can you touch yourself for me? I want to see you come.”

He did that, jerking his cock, watching Hashirama watch him. He came all over his chest, getting his t-shirt all sticky, much sooner than it usually took, the orgasm shaking his body from head to toe. He was panting, the pleasure a bit too intense, his hole as it stretched around Hashirama’s still hard dick a bit too sensitive. 

“Sorry, babe,” he gasped out. “I need to move.”

He scooted back and Hashirama sat up. Madara rolled off the condom from him, his cock hard, red and demanding under the latex. Getting his hair out of the way when it was freshly washed and unbound required at least two hands, so Hashirama held it for him as Madara took him into his mouth. His glasses hopefully landed on the table as he threw them off. 

Hashirama fucked up into his throat with shallow little thrusts, not forcing Madara down on his cock, but holding his head gently in place. Tired as he was after his orgasm, Madara found it easy to let Hashirama just take what he wanted. He soon came down his throat, pulling out a bit too early and getting some of his cum on Madara’s lips and chin. Madara rolled onto his back between his legs, his own lower half dangling off the lounger, looking up at Hashirama from his upside-down position. He then licked the cum off from his lips, knowing how much the other loved to watch that. Hashirama wiped off the remaining drops with two of his fingers and fed them to Madara, until his face was clean. 

That talk about STI was long overdue. Madara wondered if Hashirama realised this, but he couldn’t bring himself to be all responsible about his sex life all the sudden. 

They lay there, sweaty and sated for a while, until the September evening became too cold for their naked arses. 


	5. RESTORING

**_Rate it! Yamanaka Pharmacy_ **

**_Rating: 4.3_ **

**_Top comments:_ **

_Shika: 5/5_

_The best (and only) pharmacy in the village. Has a wide variety of products. If you are a lazy shopper, this is your place as you can get a whole lot of things without going anywhere else._

_Burn-it-Butterfly: 4/5_

_The choice of products is good, especially for such a small place. The service could be more polite. I’ve been making my purchases there forever, but that’s no reason to comment on my choice of diet shake powder. I can determine myself if it’s effective or not._

_U.M.: 2/5_

_Good little pharmacy with a horrible chick behind the counter. She likes to be too familiar with you and will feel free to comment on your purchases. They will keep your preferred brands though, so I’m a regular. Maybe 3/5._

_ See more comments _

* * *

October’s weather was horrible. Madara didn’t feel like trying to find a parking slot in front of the pharmacy, so he walked over from the grocery store’s lot. It was maybe a five minutes’ walk, but it started to pour down halfway through there and by the time he pushed in the door he was drenched. He dripped into a puddle on the floor and steeled himself for talking to the blond girl. 

These visits to the pharmacy were a bit of a ritual. The blond was very annoying but Madara undeniably enjoyed some of their banters. Buying lube and condoms were never just a simple exchange. “You should consider shopping them in bulk,” she told him last time. “At the rate you are going through them, you could save quite the money. Or at least get Mr Tall and Handsome to pay for it.”

Madara had to accept that Hashirama and he gained a bit of a reputation in the village. People like the Yamanaka girl - tabloid fans - knew who he was. And the people who didn’t know him from juicy articles from the past considered him the odd man who lived at the edge of the village. Some of the older folks told him they knew his grandparents and insisted they remembered him as a boy, too. They saw him taking walks with Hashirama, sitting at the Bistro and sometimes even doing grocery shopping together. Madara saw people whispering to each other, but they were left in peace otherwise. Hashirama was too friendly for people to hold a grudge against him and Madara was too bad-tempered for people to try to approach him, save maybe Cat Granny the pharmacy girl. 

Madara grabbed his preferred brand of condom from the shelf along with a new bottle of lube. He never brought more than one pack - stocking up would mean hoping Hashirama didn’t stop coming over to him, and Madara was never an optimist. 

It wasn’t the Yamanaka girl behind the counter today. It was a young guy, thin and pale, in a top that left quite a bit of his muscled stomach on display. Maybe it was a weird uniform thing, as the blond tended to wear similarly inappropriate clothing. Madara didn’t like changes, but what could he do? He handled over the items, grunting something that could be taken as a greeting if someone wanted to take it as such.

The pale guy tipped his head to the side and smiled at him, wide and fake.

“Good morning, sir. Will that be all?”

“Yes.”

“These are large-sized condoms. Are you sure you didn’t want the regular or the small ones?”

Madara, who was getting his valet out from his back pocket raised his eyes at him, not sure if he heard right. The guy was still smiling. 

“Say again?”

“I was saying that “L” might be a bit too hopeful. We have smaller sizes as well. It needs to fit snugly, you know.”

“Just why the fuck,” Madara growled, “do you think you know how large my dick is.” 

Someone chose this moment to come through the entrance door. Madara didn’t turn around. Pale guy’s dark eyes slid down his body, looking at his crotch quite openly. _And he was still smiling._

“I have an eye for these things.”

“Sai,” the blond girl chose this moment to bounce back behind the counter. “I asked you to watch the shop for ten minutes. Please, don’t insult Mr Uchiha, he’s a regular.”

“I wasn’t insulting, I was being helpful.” 

“Alright, who the hell is this,” Madara demanded, suspecting hidden cameras at this point.

“I’m really sorry, Mr Uchiha,” the girl said. Madara could tell she was holding back laughter, not sorry at all. “This is Sai, my boyfriend. He is new in town and is helping me out. He is also new to retail.”

“Your _boyfriend,”_ Madara repeated in bewilderment. Heterosexual men, in his experience, didn’t eye other men’s dicks through their trousers and made comments on the possible size of them. Feeling vengeful, he gave this Sai a very obvious once-over, letting his eyes linger on the exposed strip of skin above his low waistline, before looking back at the Yamanaka girl and raising a sceptic eyebrow. Going by her expression, it was a wonder she didn’t fling the box of condoms at his head. 

It was still pouring down in a heavy curtain by the time he walked back to his car to drive home. The wind has picked up strength, too, Madara could hardly see the road. He took a long, hot shower, put on his warmest sweatpants and hoodie and texted Hashirama.

“Call me if you have a break, you won’t believe what happened to me in the pharmacy.”

“Sorry Madara,” the reply came almost two hours later. “I will call you in the evening. We have a bit of an emergency here.”

The wind carried the rain all over the porch, making it too cold and too wet to sit outside. Madara dragged in the loungers, so they wouldn’t get completely drenched. At least he had something to sit down on in the living room this way. He then dug through a box he hadn't unpacked since he moved in to find a book to read. He hated this weather, it made him feel all caged and bored.

It was almost nine in the evening when Hashirama called. He sounded exhausted - the wind hit his garden store hard, breaking saplings, toppling over things outside, while the heavy rain flooded the building. They were trying to minimise the damage with Captain Yamato the whole day, working in the cold and rain. 

Madara told him his story in the pharmacy, feeling quite proud when he could make him laugh.

“You are making this up,” Hashirama accused, still chuckling.

“It was so absurd, I couldn’t come up with something like this!”

Hashirama texted him around noon the next day. Madara picked his phone up with a smile that quickly turned into a frown as he read the message.

“I can’t come over tonight. :( Broke down with a horrible cold. I miss you X” followed by about ten sad faces icons. Madara called him. 

“I’m really sorry,” Hashirama said, sounding as if he had cotton stuffed up his nose. “I came down with a fever today,” Madara could hear as he held the phone away from him, coughing. “I never get sick, it’s very annoying.”

“You might have pneumonia. Have you seen a doctor?”

“I haven’t,” he sighed. “I’m sure I’ll be right as rain in a day or two. Sorry for screwing up our plans.”

“Don’t worry about that,” Madara said. Then, before he could stop himself, “What’s your address, I’m coming over.”

Hashirama was silent for a moment, long enough for Madara to panic. The man probably didn’t want him at his place. What’s more, he lived almost an hours’ drive away, and Madara hadn’t left the village since he moved here. 

“Are you sure?” Hashirama asked at last in a quiet voice. “I don’t want you to catch it from me.”

“Yeah, don’t worry about that. Are you giving me your address or not?”

He stopped at Cat Granny’s and got two boxes of the soup of the day for takeaway. Chicken and veggies - sounded like something for a sick person. She insisted packing some sandwiches and cookies as well, on the house, when she heard who it was for. 

It was grey and drizzling. Madara took on the motorway, palms just slightly clammy. He never much liked driving because of his poor eyesight, but he could manage it. The problem was leaving his safe sanctuary. He got so used to just visiting his few places, meeting the very few people he met. Hashirama’s town was no metropolis by any means, and he used to live in Konoha city, for fuck’s sake. What was he all nervous about? What was the worst that could happen?

He had to pull down at a rest area halfway. He lowered the windows and let the cold October air hit his face. He lit a cigarette. His hands were shaking. 

“Get a fucking grip,” he muttered. “What are you getting all worked up about?”

The folks at the rehab centre had suggested therapy, but Madara ignored them back then. He had felt he just needed some peace and quiet, otherwise he was more than competent to deal with his own problems. Or rather - he didn’t feel like dealing with his problems at all. Now he wondered if they were maybe right. He knew he was struggling with anxiety but breaking down on the motorway was unexpected and unnerving. But he made it halfway, so he might as well see this trip through.

He turned the radio on and fiddled with it until he found a retro rock channel. He let the familiar tunes and the nicotine calm him down before he hit the road again.

He left the radio on, the overused songs helping him to focus on the present. The second half of the trip went a lot smoother, and before he knew it, he was squeezing his little hatchback into the tiny free space he found near Hashirama’s apartment.

It was on the top floor of an unassuming brick building. Madara took the stairs, happy to be out of the car. 

Hashirama looked as bad as he sounded over the phone. He was flushed with an unhealthy-looking sheen on his skin. His hair was a total mess and he had deep, dark circles under his eyes. It was strange how seeing him still calmed Madara down immediately. 

“You look like hell,” he said in lieu of a greeting. “Get back to bed. I brought some soup.”

Hashirama’s flat was small and cramped. Madara knew he moved here after they separated with his now ex-wife. The living room had a huge couch, two armchairs, a fluffy looking carpet and cheerful curtains on the window. Shelves were pushed along the walls, full of books, albums, various trinkets. And of course, there were plants everywhere, green and flowery, huge and tiny ones, making the place look as if nature broke in and took over. 

Hashirama flopped down on the gigantic sofa, pulling a crochet throw up to his ears. Madara located the kitchen, washed his hands and microwaved the soup. There was a half-drank cup of tea on the counter. He poured it out and boiled fresh water. He found a box of ginger and lemon tea - it couldn’t hurt, he assumed. 

Hashirama had so many things in his kitchen. Bowls and mismatched cups, some of them with captions like “Nr 1 Boss”, “Captain Planet” and one that had “Best Dad” painted on it in uneven, childish letters. He had a coffee machine, the electric kettle, some kind of a blender. Pots and plates and pans. It was a far cry from Madara’s desolate shelves. Just think about the damage you could do here if you went berserk, Madara thought. 

He returned to the living room with the soup and the fresh cup of tea. Hashirama blinked at him owlishly from under the hideous blanket. 

“Have you eaten anything today?”

“Not yet,” Hashirama mumbled. “Wasn’t hungry.”

“Let’s get this into you then.”

He helped him to sit up, ignoring his protests that Madara should keep his distance. Madara touched his forehead - it was way too hot, but not burning up. 

“What have you taken?” he asked as Hashirama began spooning in the soup obediently. 

“Just had some tea,” Madara snorted at that, not a big believer in natural remedies. 

“Where’s the nearest pharmacy? I’ll pop down to get some Aspirin at least. Do you have any allergies?”

“I don’t really like medicines,” Hashirama muttered.

“Well. And I don’t like to see you suffering,” Hashirama smiled into his soup bowl at that, as if Madara said something kind. 

He went and bought a whole bunch of things that could make Hashirama feel better, hardly registering the foreign surroundings. It was somehow easier to do this for someone else than it would have been for himself. At least if that someone else was Hashirama. 

He didn’t take care of anyone since Izuna died. His brother had a fiery personality, trapped in a fragile body. Madara remembered how frustrated he had been, every time he had to stop pushing himself, with all the frequent stays in hospital. He would have done so much better than Madara did, as the head of Uchiha corp. He would have stopped Madara when he tried to self-destruct. He missed him terribly, even six years after he died. He had been the only person Madara had ever been close to, at least before Hashirama appeared in his life. 

Izuna wouldn’t have approved of Hashirama, he was sure of that. He was a Senju, to begin with, and Izuna took the old family rivalry very seriously. Then, he was too easy going, too _alternative._ He didn’t follow on the path his family set him on, rather made his own life.

Izuna also wouldn’t have approved of who Madara had become. There was a part of him that was bothered by that, and probably forever would be. Still, he was who he was. Maybe Izuna would have accepted all this, as he loved him.

He had Hashirama take some meds, brewed him more tea and tucked him in. There was a large, flatscreen telly in the room, so he turned it on and found some brainless sitcom to play in the background. He watched Hashirama fall asleep on it, his legs in Madara’s lap. 

He must have dosed off himself, because dusk was already falling when he looked up next. Well, fuck. His eyes really weren't up to driving in the dark. He stood up, gently placing Hashirama’s legs back on the sofa. He checked his forehead and was relieved to note the fever had broken. 

“Madara?” 

“Hmm? Are you awake? You might want to take a shower and continue sleeping in the bed. I’m going to stay the night, if that’s ok.”

“Thank you,” Hashirama smiled at him. 

“Don’t thank me,” Madara muttered, feeling utterly fond of him. “You better get your strength back soon, as I don’t like weak men. Weak Senju are especially ugly.”

* * *

**_An unexpected romance!_ **

_Our esteemed readers might recall the polls running a few years ago, betting if the infamous Uchiha Madara will ever stay together on the longer term with one of the men that showed up on his arms! There were certainly no lack of candidates trying to get the filthy rich businessman’s attention for more than just a few nights._

_We were on the opinion then that no, Madara was just not cut for a steady, monogamous relationship. A different partner every week seemed just as much his trademark as the extravagant clothes, the luxury sports cars, the untamed hair or the fistfights at the height of parties._

_Can Madara be a changed man?_

_Who would have ever thought so? Our answer is: yes! After seemingly dropping off from the face of the earth a few years ago, Madara has been recently spotted with a mystery boyfriend. But who is he? How long have they been together?_

_Make sure to buy this week’s Konoha Mirror to find out the details! Only 150 ryo!_

* * *

Madara ended up staying three days, wearing Hashirama’s underwear and shirts, brewing him tea, buying him soup and other food from the little take away place he discovered a few corners away from the flat. To his relief, Hashirama was rapidly getting better. 

They didn’t do much, just watched the telly, chatted, or read books silently, sitting next to each other. When Hashirama was well enough, they added cuddling. It was strange, but not in a bad way, all this close contact, even touching, without it ever ending in sex. That was another new thing on top of the pile of new things that suddenly happened to him. He was proud of himself for how well he was taking it.

Truth was, staying at Hashirama’s flat wasn’t as much of an alien experience as it could have been. It was crowded, but not stifling. Hashirama’s presence all over the place made it friendly and welcoming somehow. It was a completely different world from Madara’s barren house. Which hadn’t been as barren as he would have let it be, since Hashirama started to bring things over. Seeing the amount of _stuff_ he had, Madara understood where all that was coming from. There were so many things _everywhere_ , the furniture, the plants, all the knickknacks.

Madara did miss the Bistro, his morning runs, and most of all, his garden with the porch. He had to smoke on the tiny balcony, which just wasn’t the same. He went out the first morning in nothing but Hashirama’s barely tied bathrobe, planning to have the coffee, the cigarette and the chilly air wake him up, just to be gawked at by the young, red-headed woman living next door, who was also taking a smoke outside. She ogled him as if she never saw an almost-naked man walk out of Hashirama’s apartment before, which, thinking about it, she probably really had never seen before. 

Madara kept eye contact as he took a drag of his cig then blew the smoke out. She blushed scarlet. Madara wondered if the bathrobe was covering his groin at all - the loose knot of the belt was riding low on his belly. He hadn’t considered other people might be around, being too used to the privacy of his garden at home. Should he check and tie it more securely, we mused. Then again, this was Hashirama’s balcony, he was free to appear on it however he wanted.

“Good morning,” the neighbour squeaked and Madara blinked in surprise. He thought she would just escape back inside. Either his capability to intimidate people, his sex appeal or both seriously dimmed over the years.

“Morning,” he drawled. He raised his cigarette to his lips again, saw her follow the movement with her eyes from behind her glasses before her glance slid down on his body again. Not his sex appeal then. Good to know.

“How is Mr Senju?” she asked, lighting up another cigarette of her own, apparently hungry for gossip. Madara was suddenly very glad he had no neighbours. 

“Still out sleeping,” he shrugged, the bathrobe slipping further from his shoulders, but pulling it back would have been admitting this annoying woman a victory. He tapped his thumb against his lips, holding the cigarette away from his face and added, smirking, making it sound as suggestive as possible, “He had a rough night, you know.” It backfired though, as the woman just leaned against the railing of her balcony as if she was trying to get closer to him and licked her lips. 

“Did he now,” she murmured in a tone that maybe meant to be sexy. It was a wasted effort on Madara. He wasn’t ready to admit defeat just then. 

“Hmm. He might not be able to move around much today.”

“Oh my,” her face was pink, and her eyes were glazed over. This was really not going the way Madara planned. She was supposed to be scandalised. He thought she would escape back inside and Madara could claim the outside territory of the balconies for himself. “If he needs any _looking after_ , just come and get me.”  
  


“That,” Madara put his cigarette out on the saucer of his coffee cup with more force than it was needed. The nerve! “Won’t be necessary. But thank you for the offer.”

After this, he smoked very little while still at Hashirama’s and peered out to make sure the weird woman wasn’t on her balcony before he ventured out every time. He didn’t mention the encounter to Hashirama until he came over a few days later, completely healed and asked Madara just what on earth did he tell his neighbour.

“Karin was always a bit strange, but this was new. I could hardly keep her outside my door, and she kept hinting… I’m not sure, but I think a threesome with you and me. Madara, why are you laughing? What have you done?” So, Madara confessed. 

His routine expanded again. Hashirama still came over once or twice a week, but now Madara spent time at his place as well. Despite the freight of the first trip over, the drive quickly became an unremarkable act. They mostly just stayed in Hashirama’s flat, watching a movie on his telly and making out on the sofa like teenagers, but why not put all those extra pieces of furniture to use? When the weather wasn’t too horrible for November, they went for a walk in the evening. 

Hashirama cooked. Madara wasn’t sure why he was even surprised. Most of the nights he made them something healthy and fresh, a far cry from the takeaway Madara mostly lived on. 

Madara thought it would be nice, spending most of the winter here. His old and empty house was cold. The Virginia creeper in his garden turned red and pretty, but it was too cold to stay outside for long on the porch and enjoy it. Hashirama’s flat had the jungle inside. They could live here when it was cold, and at Madara’s place when the weather would become warm again in springtime.

That was a dangerous thread of thought, of course. Madara mentally added it to the growing stack of things they would have needed to talk about but didn’t. Some days he longed to pry Hashirama’s head open, to take a look inside, to know what he was really thinking of him and their time together. Was he really content like this with Madara? How long would he remain so? When would this all come crashing down? How would Madara cope with being alone in the world again when it did?

The problem was, Madara suspected he had fallen in love with him. He wasn’t sure - how could he know without a doubt, when it never happened to him before? What difference did it make anyway? He knew Hashirama liked him and that he had a place in his life for now. That was enough. That was supposed to be enough. 

* * *

**_‘I love him, but can’t say it before he does’ – why we are often reluctant to share how we feel_ **

_We have all been in the situation - a guy starts to feel special and before we know it, we are in love with him. We walk around holding this big secret we are dying to spill - yet we are afraid to do so. Asking a friend if we should say those three words often just complicates the situation even further. They will try to give good advice, say it, don’t say it, do it only if he says it first, but it has to be YOU making this decision._

_Consider - what do you have to lose? If he’s not ready to say it back, how long are you willing to wait for him? What if he will never be ready to say it? Aren’t you just wasting your affection then?_

_It is entirely likely he has the same dilemma as you have. Afraid to scare you, of looking as if he was rushing things._

_One of you has to make the first step. Why not be brave?_

_READ MORE: 15 funny and sweet way you can say I Love You_

* * *

“Do you remember I told you Leaf Village was nominated for this award? Local business awards? It seems we are the finalists in two categories.”

“Congratulations,” Madara said as Hashirama looked really excited about it. He was sitting on the lounger, in the living room, watching the other man put some salad or whatever together in his kitchen. 

“Outstanding Small Business and Sustainability.”

“You worked hard for it.”

“Not just me, really the whole team did. I’m so proud of them.”

Madara smiled tightly. He had been in a piss-poor mood the whole week, being torn about his feelings over Hashirama. Also, the Senju's dedication to the gardening store was a bit of a mystery for him. Sure, it must be nice, growing plants, but Hashirama took all the pains to purchase only from local suppliers and only from sustainable sources. He also employed young people with a problematic background, intent on giving them a chance, or often a second chance, to learn about the value of hard work and earn their money from a legal source. Madara wasn’t sure how profitable the whole thing was, or if Hashirama just considered it a charity rather than an actual business. 

“There will be this gala event, near the end of the month,” Hashirama finished the salad, and went to rummage through his bag he left near the door. He fished out an envelope and brought it over to Madara. “I was thinking that maybe… I’d like you to be there. If you want to come.”

There was an invitation inside for the Local Business Awards Gala Presentation Evening. Madara looked at it blankly and felt a growing ball of irrational anger in the pit of his stomach.

“Why?”

“There’s no pressure, Madara, only if…”

“No, Hashirama. I want to understand _why_ you are giving me this? Did I give the impression that I feel comfortable going with you to public places? Or that I want to meet your co-workers? Or that I, really, need this at all? In case you haven’t noticed, all I want is to be left in peace.”

“Madara,” Hashirama held up his hands, placating. “I didn’t want to pressure you at all. But listen, this award is important to me and _you_ are important to me, so I thought…”

“Well, you _are_ pressuring me. I’m not… I’m not ready for something like this and you know it very well! I told you at the beginning, I’m not promising you anything. So, you can take your expectations and stuff them up your…”

Since Madara accepted he was very likely in love with Hashirama, he had felt unbalanced. The man occupied his thoughts too much. Loving Hashirama was just one more of his weaknesses and losing him would be just one more of his failures. He should have kept the whole affair distant, focusing on the sex. The sex was good. It was easy. Emotions and plans of the future and this damned uncertainty - they just caused him pain. 

It was no surprise at all that his doubts turned into anger in the end. There was Hashirama, with his stupid award for his insignificant garden shop, wanting Madara to join him on some horrid gala. What was even his reasoning behind inviting Madara? 

“Madara,” Hashirama was still so calm, trying not to upset him further. That just angered him even more. Madara knew he was being unreasonable about it - but an argument might have just let him vent his frustration. He wanted Hashirama to get angry, so he wouldn’t feel as if he was the only total jerk in this situation. It was easy to pretend for Hashirama to be the good guy, dropping a bombshell like this on him and then just acting as if he did nothing. “Madara, please. I don’t want you to feel you _need to_ come, but I wanted to give the invite to you anyway. I wanted you to know I’d like you to be there.”

“ _Why_ , Hashirama? What do you hope to get out of it? A few photos with Uchiha Madara, to boost the popularity of your store?”  
  


“Now, you know that is unfair,” he could see the hurt on his face now, a small victory.

“I don’t know that. It would at least make sense. I ask _again_ , why have the trouble with this invite? It can’t come as much of a surprise to you that I’m not comfortable with something like this. You must know I really don’t care about your store, either.”

“This award is important to me,” Hashirama’s pose has stiffened, but he was still trying to be reasonable. “And you… you are an important part of my life as well. It would be nice, you know, to have the man I’m together with join me at an event like this.”

“An important part,” Madara echoed mockingly. It was just not good enough. He wanted… he wanted so much. Too much, things that were just out of reach for someone like him. He wanted Hashirama’s undivided attention. He wanted to be the single, most important thing to be for him. He wanted his love. “Well, bad news then, Hashirama. This _important part_ might not ever be ready to go to any kind of an event with you.”

“Would you just think about it? It’s something normal couples do.”

“Normal couples?!” he repeated, voice getting rougher with his anger. The nerve of this man. “Let me break this for you, Hashirama - we will never be a _normal couple._ I have told you this before - it’s your fault pretending otherwise.”

“No, I’m sorry,” Hashirama didn’t seem sorry at all. His face was flushed, and he was glaring at Madara. “That was a poor choice of words. I really just want you to think about…”

“There’s nothing to think about! God, how thick you can be? The last thing I want is to be sitting with you, among a bunch of other blockheads, playing to be some great entrepreneurs! You are a _Senju,_ for fuck’s sake, does anybody really believe you built up your miserable little business with your own two hands, and not the money you inherited?”

“That...that is uncalled for.” Madara had never seen Hashirama really angry before, and it was quite a sight. It was almost frightening how his usually good-natured expression transformed into a lot more formidable look. “I’m trying hard, and maybe if you tried as well…”

“Fuck you! You have no idea how hard I am trying every single, fucking day. You are just blind to the _truth,_ Hashirama. That’s why you are thinking this, this…” he waved the invite which was still in his hand around angrily, “This thing between us can work. Will you just open your eyes and face reality? Fuck it, be delusional about your business if you want to be, but will you finally see me for what I really am? You are doing both of us harm if you keep lying to yourself. I told you, I _warned you_ I have limits, yet you…” Hashirama was wilfully blind and Madara was a fool. He knew all along this would end badly. He could only blame himself for pretending Hashirama could accept him, broken as he was, and still love him. It was only so long before he lost his patience and wanted to change him. But Madara was who he was - he had tried to be someone else for the sake of others before, and would rather die, than to do that again. 

“Madara, I didn’t want to upset you. I didn’t phrase this whole thing the best way - I don’t want…”

“Look,” he cut him off, suddenly drained of all energy. “We both know you _do_ want a lot of things, things I’m not able to give to you. You should leave for tonight. Let’s talk tomorrow, when we both calmed down.”

Hashirama did leave shortly after, and Madara truly despised him for it. This was the beginning of the end, he knew. Hashirama finally realised what Madara could give was not enough. He was hard to fault, but Madara desperately wished he had been quicker about it, before he wormed his way into Madara’s pathetic little heart.

He paced the house restlessly. Old cravings creeped back, and it took all his willpower to ignore them. What he needed, he decided, was his porch, his garden, and a pack of cigarettes. 

December had brought frosty nights. Madara wasn’t a _total_ madman, so he put on his winter coat and wrapped himself in two blankets before he laid down on the floor of his porch. He wasn’t exactly warm in his cocoon, but he wasn’t freezing either. There were hardly any clouds up on the sky, and the full moon shone brightly, drawing his gaze to it in a hypnotising way.

He was on his fourth, or maybe his fifth cigarette, when he heard a car driving up to his house. The engine stopped and there were footsteps then a knock on his door. Madara closed his eyes and pretended he wasn’t there. 

Instead of giving up, Hashirama walked to his garden wall.

“Madara?” he waited for the answer that didn’t come. “I know you are on your porch.”

“Just how do you know that?” he asked with a sigh.

“I like to think I know you a bit. I know when you are upset, you like to be out here and smoke your horrible cigarettes one after each other.”

“You never said anything about my cigarettes before.”

“Well. They are horrible and they are bad for you.”

“What do you want, Hashirama?”

“To apologise,” he waited for something, but Madara was silent. “I’m sorry for pushing you so. You were right, you clearly told me some things you might not be ever comfortable with. I should have respected your boundaries. I’m sorry,” he said again.

Madara watched the smoke of his cig as it curled up towards the sky. That was a nice apology, he assumed. Sounded a bit rehashed, but the intention was probably honest behind it.

“I also told you we should speak tomorrow, and not… whatever time it is, tonight.”

“Yes, but I was just driving around aimlessly, and the roads are so bad and dark around here. I was thinking how you must be out here and it’s really cold tonight, and how I don’t want to go home and be alone. So, I came back. I would really rather make up than suffer through the whole night alone. I also have something important to tell you.”

“Do you?”

“Yes. I love you, Madara.”

“Why,” he demanded, “are you telling me that, while standing outside my garden?”

“Because you didn’t let me in!” Hashirama said with exasperation. 

“No, I mean…” he trailed off, not really sure what he meant. He wanted Hashirama to say those words, but he wanted him to whisper them against his skin, while he held him close.

“Will you let me in?”

“The wall is not _that_ high,” he said, as he didn’t feel he could move even if he wanted to. 

“Now, really?” Hashirama muttered, but Madara heard a thump and a grunt, as he jumped and pulled himself up. The moon was bright enough to make out his tall form as he climbed down inside, like some misbegotten hero from a romantic drama. He got a bit tangled up in the hedge - Madara heard the tearing of clothes and soft cursing. 

Then he was right there, leaning above Madara. He plucked the cigarette from his hand - the atrocity! - and put it out in the ashtray. “I love you” he said again, whispering against his lips. They kissed. 

“Why are you telling me now? Why not before?”

“I thought I would be overstepping boundaries,” Hashirama murmured. “Which then I did anyway. I thought you wouldn’t want to hear me saying it. But I also thought that I was kind of obvious and you knew it, anyway.”

“Then you are _hugely_ overestimating my ability to understand people and their feelings,” Madara pointed out. Hashirama laughed and if it sounded a bit rattled, he was hard to blame. Something wet hit Madara’s face. He reached up and wiped off Hashirama’s tears.

“Why are you crying, you idiot?”

“This was our first serious argument. I’m allowed to feel emotional.”

“The first? Does that mean you intend us to have more?”

“Arguments are normal in a serious relationship. They help us to uncover our problems and reach consensus at conflicting points.”

“Have you been reading women’s magazines?”

“Women are smarter than us.” 

Madara snorted, amused despite himself. Could things really be that easy? Would this be enough? Anxiety rippled through him suddenly. He gripped Hashirama’s coat and jerked him close.

“This is no joking matter,” he said urgently. “I have _issues,_ Hashirama, and I have _needs,_ and it’s going to be fucking difficult and you will regret ever putting the effort into me.”

“The only thing I would regret is letting you go,” Hashirama said in a low voice. “Just… speak to me. I’m not so good at reading you either. Tell me - what do you need?”

“I need… I want you to tell me I’m the most important person in your life, Hashirama. I want you to promise me that you will stay forever. I want you to say it, even if it’s a lie.”

“Madara,” Hashirama cupped his face. “I think I fell in love with you when we were fourteen, and then I never stopped loving you at all. The feeling was dormant when we were apart, I didn’t even know about it consciously, yet it was there all the time. I found you again and I’m not going to let you go. There’s no hardship that the two of us can’t overcome. Let me stay with you and love you forever. This is the truth, Madara, not a lie.”

An ugly, loud sob tore up from Madara’s throat. He clasped a hand in front of his mouth in embarrassment, but there was no stopping the tears. Hashirama urged him up and hugged him close, until Madara was curled up in his lap, crying convulsively. Hashirama kept petting his hair, telling him it was alright.

They went inside once Madara calmed down. Save for a few tears, he couldn’t recall crying since he was a child. He felt light-headed and more carefree than he could ever remember being. 

Hashirama’s coat had a long tear on the side - the revenge of the bramble for him climbing over it. 

“And I thought plants obeyed your command,” he said dryly. “It might be better if I gave you a key, so you can come through the door, next time.”

Hashirama grinned at him and they kissed, still in their coats, until Madara started to warm up.

“Did you read about make-up sex as well in your magazines?” he whispered into Hashirama’s ear. 

“I can’t wait to try it. They also wrote that if it’s the full moon, we should expect breakthroughs, major awakenings, mind-blowing sex and first time ‘I love you’-s. You see, they are very insightful, shall I say scientific reads. Look how right they were. Oh, it also said my libido will be intense _A-F._ ”

“I’m a bit scared now. Just how intense is your more intense libido?”

“Shall we find out? Don’t forget the bit they said about the mind-blowing sex.”

By the time they reached the bedroom, most of their clothes were gone. Hashirama laid him down on the bed and made sure to thoroughly kiss his body everywhere. He never seemed to get bored of this. When Madara was all hot and turned on properly, he groped the nightstand drawer for the lube and condom, thrusting them into Madara’s hands.

“Wrong box,” Madara said, reaching for the larger size. Hashirama took hold of his hand gently.

“No. It’s the right one. I thought we could try things the other way ‘round?”

Madara pushed himself up on his elbows and looked at him. 

“Are you sure? You have never done this before, have you?”

Hashirama shook his head, smiling. He whispered into Madara’s ear.

“You will be my first. Please be gentle with me.”

“Fuck,” Madara groaned. “If you say things like that, things might end prematurely.”

Hashirama laughed softly. He was nervous, Madara could tell, but it was alright. So was he. He had to make this feel really good for Hashirama.

“Best if you get down on your stomach. It will be the easiest that way,” he handed Hashirama a pillow, who, familiar with this from the other end of things, put it under his hips. Madara poured lube on his fingers, letting it warm before sliding them down in Hashirama’s crack. He didn’t push, just rested his fingertips against his opening.

“Have you ever had something up here, babe? Your fingers? A toy maybe?”

“My fingers,” Hashirama mumbled into his arms. 

“Now, that’s quite an image,” he kissed one of his butt cheeks, then bit gently into the other. Hashirama’s hips stuttered forward into the pillow. “That’s it. I’m going to finger you open, and you can hump the pillow if that feels good. You will tell me if it becomes too much, okay, Hashirama?”

“Yes,” he agreed, breathless. “I will.”

He took his time. Hashirama did his best to relax, but he was also obviously wired-up. Not that he would have admitted it. Madara stopped quite a few times, kissed his back, between his shoulder blades, whispered filthy little encouragements to him, knowing how much they turned Hashirama on. 

“I think you are ready for me now. Do you want to try?”

Hashirama breathed yes, raising himself up on his arms and knees, neck bowed in a deceitfully submissive manner. Madara knew him to be anything but. He had that air of authority around him, a man who was intent to be in command of his life. He had barged in, took over Madara’s life as well and insisted to stick around, making Madara as happy as he could possibly be. This role probably didn’t come easy to him at all, yet here he was, offering himself so beautifully for Madara’s taking.

Before Hashirama, sex had never been about tenderness. It was strange to look at him, naked and aroused and feel so much love.

A few unhurried strokes got Madara’s cock back to full hardness. He rolled the condom on, adding on more lube before he started to push his way in. He went as slow as he could, gentle rolls of his hips, rubbing shooting circles on Hashirama’s lower back.

“Look how well you are taking me,” he gasped once he was fully sheathed. “Fuck, look at your lovely arse, so full of my cock.”

“Madara, just… _move.”_

He obeyed, thrusting into the other man gently. Hashirama was panting his breaths underneath him, hands fisted in the bedsheet. Madara shifted, trying to get the angle right, before he pushed back into Hashirama with a little more force. He was rewarded with a long, breathy moan when he managed to hit his prostate.

“Tell me. Tell me if it’s good, Hashirama. Or if…”

“It’s good Madara. Madara, do it again.”

He did, thrusting in with more force now, careful not to be too rough, chasing Hashirama’s groans of pleasure. He was so hot and tight around him. Madara loved him so much. He gasped, hips snapping in sharply as he suddenly blurted it out.

“I love you. Hashirama, I love you, babe. I… _fuck,_ I’m going to come, Hashirama, tell me you are close.”

“I am, Madara, I love you as well. Please, touch me.”

Madara reached down under him, took his hard cock into his hands and tried to jerk him in time with his increasingly erratic thrusts. It was hardly his best performance, all rushed, messy caresses as he bit his lower lip, and tried to hold it together until Hashirama came. It was his first time, after all, and Madara was supposed to be the one in control and taking care of him.

When Hashirama came, cum splattering Madara’s fingers and muscles contracting around his dick, he let it go, his orgasm shaking him from his head to his toes.

He pulled out carefully when he felt he could move again. Hashirama winced a little as he rolled onto his side. He looked truly well-fucked, eyes glassy, mouth parted and his hair a total mess and Madara loved him. He refrained from repeating it. It was not a phrase to overuse.

“I was thinking,” Hashirama said, after Madara disposed of the condom and returned from the bathroom with a wet cloth. They would need to change the sheet, but that could wait. For now, they just shifted to the dry side of the bed. “That we could do an STI test. And try it without protection. If you are okay with that.” Just like that, Hashirama said another thing Madara had been thinking about but never said out loud.

“Yeah,” he agreed. “That’s a good idea. You might want to know I haven’t been with anyone before you for almost two years, and I had a test then. So, I should be clean. If you were worried about the unprotected oral sex part.”

“I wasn’t,” Hashirama said, looking embarrassed about it. “I haven’t even thought about that.”

“Did you skip that part in your magazines?”

“I swear I’m normally more responsible than that. I’m just not very good at keeping a cool head around you.”

“Lucky me,” Madara smirked at him. They kissed, deep and unhurried.

“Madara,” Hashirama said after a while. “You know that you can tell me anything that’s on your mind, don’t you? Anything you want. What do you want?”

“Right now? I want to see how fast we can get you up again,” he said honestly. “Because as much I enjoyed your arse, I might love your dick even more.”

“You know it won’t take me too long,” Hashirama whispered in a sultry voice. “But I didn’t just mean about sex.”

“I know, babe. Just… I just want you to stay the way you are. I love you as you are.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As I was correcting this, I realised this is a story where Madara leaving the village is a positive thing. It wasn't intentional, but I do find it amusing.
> 
> A shorter chapter & epilogue left, probably will be uploading tomorrow as I can't cope with the stress of posting the fic any more haha.


	6. COMPLETING

**_Village notice board_ **

**_Public notices_ **

_Events_

_The Bistro is hosting an end of year event on the last Saturday of the month! We will prepare mulled wine, tea and cookies free for everyone in the village. Come join us on 30 th December, Saturday at 3 p.m.! Bring your own treats - it’s your chance to boast with your baking skills to the community! Don’t worry if you are not much baker - you can still sample all the delicious treats. Everyone is welcome! _

_For sale_

_Looking for a new home for my pet toads, Gamakichi and Gamatatsu. They are very friendly and have been with me for years. Will be moving to Konoha city and I can’t keep pets in my new apartment. I will give them away for free, for a loving new owner._

_Lost & Found_

_Found a pair of gloves (dark blue) and a knitted scarf (beige) by the riverbank. I left them in the Bistro, so the owners can claim them back there._

_I also want to remind everyone that while it’s more abandoned during the winter, the riverbank is still a public place, so mind what you do there. There can be children around! One would think it’s now too cold for certain activities. _

* * *

Nothing changed - but yet, it did. They still spent almost all of the evenings and nights together. They had keys to each other’s places now. Hashirama said “good morning love,” and kissed his cheeks and lips while whispering “I love you.” Madara found he was less tetchy during his days, less anxious of what the future might bring. He started to trust that Hashirama might still be there with him the next morning, and many more mornings to come. He thought that maybe it was safe to feel happy.

He was outside on his porch on a Friday afternoon, smoking, looking up at the grey sky, wondering if it would snow. Hashirama wouldn't be coming over - he was attending the gala in the evening. He never mentioned the award event again in the two weeks that have passed since The Argument, just mentioned in passing that he would be busy this day but would be around the next. 

With a sigh, Madara went inside. Hashirama probably thought he threw the invite out, but in truth he was hiding it in one of his unpacked boxes. “The event starts at 7 p.m.,” he read. He took out his phone to check the time. Half two. 

It was ridiculous, of course. There would be people there and the folks from Hashirama’s store, who may or may not know they were together. It would be a boring little event. Hashirama could just tell him about it the next day. Furthermore, Madara didn’t have anything to wear, his best attire consisting of washed-out jeans and long-sleeved t-shirts. 

_Theoretically,_ he had the time to go and buy something. He could drive over to the town, find a decent store and get an attire proper for a charity gala event. Whatever was proper for such a thing. The invite didn’t say anything about the dress code. Madara wouldn’t buy a suit, he was damned if he ever wore one of those again, but maybe he could stomach something… smart casual. Maybe even business casual. Then he could go and surprise Hashirama. 

He wouldn’t do it, of course. Just the idea made him feel itchy all over. He tried to get engaged in a book, but his concentration was off. He took his phone out to text Hashirama and wish him luck. It was still before four pm. If he left now, at least part of the drive wouldn’t be in complete darkness. 

“I’m going to regret this,” he said out loud to himself as he pulled his boots and coat on. “Must be losing my mind, at last.”

He didn’t go to the busy shopping street or the mall in the town but circled around until he found a smaller men’s fashion boutique outside the centre. He parked his hatchback in front of it and peered inside. It seemed devoid of any other customers. Good. 

The old-fashioned bell above the door jingled merrily as he entered. The shop was slightly larger than he expected, giving him the chance to hide from the shopkeeper’s eyes as he browsed. She was just coming around, asking if she could help him. He was about to decline, but…

“Mr Uchiha? What are you doing here?”

There she was, the pharmacy girl from the village. Madara gaped at her.

“Me? What are _you_ doing here? Have you been finally fired for your horrible customer care skills? How did you make this place hire you?”

“I don’t work here,” the blond was laughing. “You realise my parents own the pharmacy, don’t you? I’m unlikely to get fired. And my customer care skills are just fine. My friend works here. We will go out partying tonight, so I’m just keeping her company until she closes. There she is.”

Another young woman with an unfortunate pink dye came into view. She gasped upon seeing Madara, her green eyes wide as it jumped from him to her friend. Madara looked back over his shoulders at the door and wondered if he should just make a run for it.

“Sakura,” pharmacy girl said, grinning her predatory grin. “This is Mr Uchiha, a regular customer of mine. I have mentioned him to you.”

“Mr Uchiha,” pink haired girl said, still with that wide-eyed look. “What an honour to have you here. How can we help you?”

Madara sighed. He might as well get over with it.

“I’m going to an event tonight and need something to wear.”

In the end, it wasn’t too bad. The two women, annoying as they were, were intent to dress him up into the best clothes the little shop offered. 

“You are so skinny, I never noticed it under all those baggy clothes,” Ino said, bringing him another pair of trousers to try on. Madara took it and pulled the curtain of the fitting room firmly closed. “I’m not sure if denim will do for this gala, even if it’s dark. What is your boyfriend wearing?”

“No idea,” Madara said honestly, dragging on the newest pair of pants. “Knowing him, something old fashioned and unfitting, so I can’t miss the mark too much.” This pair would have to do, he decided. It was black, with a slight metallic shine to it. He turned around and looked at his arse in the mirror. Not bad. 

The top was somewhat easier. He chose a black, slim fit, button-down shirt and tucked it into his trousers. He was already missing his comfy sweatpants and t-shirts, but he looked sharper than he had in a long time. 

“You look great in them, Mr Uchiha,” Sakura said excitedly, while Ino clapped her hands together.

“That’s quite a change. I can suddenly see why Mr Tall and Handsome is so infatuated.”

“Would you stop calling him that,” Madara muttered, “and try to find me a blazer.”

The blazer was also black and had a similar metallic shine to it as the trousers. It emphasised his thin waist but made his shoulders look broader, so he was quite happy with it. Although it was certainly nothing like the outfits Madara used to buy in high-end stores in Konoha, it would do. 

“Can I ask something?” Sakura looked at him hopefully. “Do you happen to know Uchiha Sasuke?”

“We are a great fan of Taka,” Ino explained. “And Sakura has a _huuuge_ crush on Sasuke from it.”

“So do you,” Sakura snapped.

“Well - who _doesn’t_ have a crush on Sasuke?”

“He’s a distant relative,” Madara admitted. He mostly remembered him from tabloid articles that compared the two of them. He was at least ten years younger and led an emo band or something equally popular with young girls. Madara never listened to any of their songs, just assumed they were horrible. “But I’m not sure I ever met him. You two should listen to better music.” The women scowled at him as if he said something insulting.

They had a brief debate whether Madara should wear a tie as well - which he firmly declined - and if the heavy black boots he wore were suitable for the event. They obviously weren’t, but Madara would wear them anyway. 

“Now, if we would do something about your hair,” Ino said, reaching up towards his high ponytail. 

“Touch my hair, and you will lose your hand,” Madara warned, but it was lacking real ire. He took his glasses off and leaned in close to examine himself in the mirror. He hadn't been looking at his reflection for such an extended time in a long while. His skin was looking healthier nowadays, not so pale and thinly stretched over his sharp cheekbones as it was a year or two ago. The dark circles under his eyes were almost gone, too. Regular sleep, eating healthier - or eating in general - definitely did wonders. So did the lack of drugs and alcohol. Maybe even Hashirama’s organic, handmade cosmetics did something for it. If he went again for some makeup, he might not look too horrible in it.

An eyeliner appeared in his field of vision, held up by the blond menace. She was probably looking smug, but Madara luckily couldn’t make out her expression with his glasses off.

“Mind reading now?” he asked.

“I _loved_ your make-up compilations. We used to go through all the mags with Sakura, didn’t we? We tried all of them - even went to school wearing them once… well, that one didn’t end well.”

“A bad influence for little girls,” Madara muttered. “Now I know my life wasn’t lived in vain.” He took the offered eyeliner, enhancing his eyes with practiced, smoothly drawn shadows. Noting too excessive, of course. He put his glasses back on and was relieved to see it worked quite well with them. “Thanks,” he handled the liner back, just to find the two girls grinning at him. 

“Mind if we take a selfie?” Ino asked. “I want to brag to all of our friends tonight. Getting the infamous Uchiha Madara dressed for his date.”

“It’s not a date - it’s a business award gala,” Madara pointed out, but he was ignored.

“I could use a photo with you to boost the sales here, too. I could do with a pay rise,” Sakura added.

Feeling incredibly charitable, Madara let the two girls pose with him. He made sure to wear his most bored and unimpressed expression, but that didn’t turn off their good mood. Ino then asked for his mobile number so she could send the photo over to him as well, so yeah, pharmacy girl now had his contact details. When they asked to see a photo of his _boyfriend_ , he didn’t even put up any resistance, just brought up the selfie Hashirama had snapped of them the other week, when they were taking a walk by the riverbank. He was oddly proud when they _ooh-_ ed and _aww-_ ed over it. 

It was well past closing time he left the shop, firmly declining the invitation to join the girls and their friends partying later in the evening. He had half an hour to get across town, find a parking spot and join the gala. Which was a small blessing as it didn’t leave him much time to get anxious again. 

He had a quick smoke before going inside. He had all kind of second thoughts, but it was too late to chicken out now, wasn’t it? Hopefully there wouldn’t be too much of a crowd. Hashirama would be happy to see him, and that was what mattered. He _would be_ happy to see him, wouldn’t he? 

“Don’t start it now,” he told himself. “You have come this far.”

He parked close enough to leave his coat in the car. It was also another strategy. He had to hurry, to avoid getting too chilled, feeling relieved when he could step inside the building. The man at the entrance took a bored look at his invitation and let him in.

“Yours will be table seven. The event starts in five minutes,” he told him.

Madara looked around in the hall, wondering if he should hide in the restroom maybe and just sit down at the table at the very last minute, to minimize the time he needed to spend around others. People were gathered in smaller groups, talking between themselves. Nobody was paying him any attention, which was a relief. That is, until his eyes met Hashirama’s.

He was talking with a few other men, but when he noticed Madara, he seemed to tune out from the conversation completely. His face was blank with surprise for a moment that dragged on long enough for Madara to wonder if he just made a huge mistake with coming here. But then a smile broke out on his face, sunny enough to light up the whole bloody place. He excused himself and hurried up to him.

“Madara! You came! I never thought…” Hashirama kissed him quickly on the lips, before Madara could protest. He took his hand, and then just looked at him with that foolish, besotted expression. It made focusing on anything else but him difficult. Madara felt the tension ease up in him a bit. “You look great. I mean you always look great, but this look… wow. I… you are beautiful,” Madara smirked at him and Hashirama blushed. The outside world stopped to exist around them.

“You don’t look half bad yourself.” Hashirama was wearing black suit trousers that weren’t properly ironed with a rather formless, matching jacket. He had a cheap looking white shirt on, making the whole look resemble something a high school student would have put together for his final exams. A high school student with no fashion sense. The look was completed by a lopsided, badly done maroon tie. Without thinking, Madara tried to straighten it, but it was hopeless. He untied it, moved it over to his own neck to do it properly. He found he could still tie it without looking at a mirror. It was one of those things you just never forgot. He hooked it back over Hashirama’s head and fastened it for him, lifting his ponytail carefully out of the way. Madara preferred his hair unbound, but it wasn’t a bad look on him. At least he wasn’t wearing his favourite, ugly white hairband.

“There,” he said. “Better.” Hashirama was looking at him as if the sun shone out of Madara’s arse. Madara couldn’t help but smile back.

“Thank you. Do you want to meet the others?”

“Sure,” Madara said, although he didn’t want to, at all. Hashirama took him by the hand and led him back to the group of men he had abandoned. Madara recognised ‘Captain’ Yamato from the photos. He was talking to two boys who barely seemed out of teen hood. 

“Guys,” Hashirama announced, vibrating with excitement. “This is _Madara.”_ Three pairs of eyes stared at him in surprise. “Madara, these are Captain Yamato, Hiruzen and Danzo from my team.”

“Hi,” Madara said faintly.

A heaven-sent woman took this moment to ask everyone in the hall to kindly take their seats, saving Madara from any form of small talk. They drifted to another room with the crowd. Madara might have clung to Hashirama’s hand too desperately as he squeezed back reassuringly. 

“Are you alright?”  
  
  


“Just wonderful,” Madara muttered back and almost managed a smile. His palms were all clammy. 

Waiters came and offered them champagne or wine. Madara could have killed for alcohol and the way it loosened his inhibitions.

“Just water for me, thank you. I’m driving,” he declined, not even knowing where he got the strength from.

“For me as well,” Hashirama said. “I have a speech in case we win, and I already fear I’m going to make a mess of it.” Madara couldn’t help but smile at him gratefully.

Before he knew it, he was chatting with Yamato, who was sitting on his right, although what they talked about, he couldn’t recall later. There was an empty seat on Hashirama’s left. Madara hadn’t paid it any attention, until a fair skinned man in an obviously expensive and very well-tailored, dark blue suit pulled it out and dropped down on it. He had strange, white hair but he was obviously young. 

“I’m sorry I’m late, brother,” Senju Tobirama said. “The last meeting dragged on forever and then the traffic was just horrible…”

He trailed off when his eyes found Madara. Hashirama smiled at him.

“That’s ok Tobirama, I think they are just about to start. Tobirama, this is Madara. Madara, this is my younger brother, Tobirama.”

“Yes,” the CEO of Senju&Senju said. “We have met once. It’s a… pleasure,” he didn’t make it sound as if it was. He held out his hand, and Madara shook it. “Hashirama has been talking _a lot_ about you.”

The award gala finally started and Madara gratefully tuned out the world. He only started to pay attention again when Leaf Village won the Sustainable Business Award. Hashirama’s speech went on at a bit of length, naive, grateful and optimistic. Madara rolled his eyes fondly. 

When the whole thing finally ended, Hashirama and his team were surrounded by other entrepreneurs, wanting a few free ideas. Madara did hide a bit in the restroom to ensure nobody would talk to him, but in the end the craving for a cigarette was too strong. The designated smoking area was on the roof of the building, so he followed the signs up the stairs. 

He regretted not having his coat, as it started to snow in large, wet flakes. He tried to find a sheltered spot under the roof - just to discover it already occupied by Senju Tobirama. He, of course, had a coat on - expensive and well-tailored, like his suit, although it had an unexplainably fluffy, white fur collar that didn’t quite fit the look. He cast reddish, unimpressed eyes at Madara, who did his best not to shiver too obviously in the cold. He fished out a cig and Tobirama lit his lighter, holding the tiny flame out to him.

“Thanks,” Madara took a long drag and tried to ignore the other’s gaze on him.

“Hashirama said you wouldn’t be here tonight.”

“Well. Change of plans.”

“I’m sure he was happy. I wasn’t joking - he really does talk a lot about you.” Madara wondered if this man ever joked. It was hard to imagine. He had no idea what to say, so he just hummed in a noncommittal way, hoping Tobirama would just let them smoke together in awkward silence. He had no such luck. “I was surprised when he first mentioned you live in that small village. It’s really the middle of nowhere, isn’t it? I mean,” he pointed over the roof, at the rows of brick houses around them, “even this town is. Not quite what one would expect knowing your…” he took a little break, disapproval seeping into his tone, “ _previous lifestyle.”_

“People can change,” Madara replied quietly, looking at the ember of his cigarette. 

“Rarely, in my experience.” He smoked in a practiced, attractive way, sheltering the cigarette with his palm from the wind. He was elegant, in control and handsome with his sharp features and exotic white hair. Madara found it easy to detest him. He didn’t even feel bad about it, as the feeling was obviously mutual. 

He didn’t ask what the fuck was his problem, as it was obvious. Madara wasn’t a man someone like Senju Tobirama wanted to see on his brother’s arm. He surely was upset, learning who Hashirama was dating. Well, Madara thought, bad luck. He would have to get used to it.

Hashirama chose that moment to bounce up to them.

“I knew I would find the two of you up here, blowing smoke like dragons! I hope…” he cut himself off, frowning. “Madara, where is your coat? It’s freezing.”

“Left it in the car,” Madara confessed. Hashirama unbuttoned his without a second thought and wrapped it around him. It held Hashirama’s warmth, and he burrowed deeper into it gratefully. He didn’t have to look over to Tobirama to tell he was looking at him in quiet contempt. 

“Congratulations, brother,” he said, putting out his cigarette. “That award was well deserved. ‘Upcoming Small Business’ should have been yours too.”

“Thanks, Tobirama,” Hashirama smiled at his brother and he smiled thinly back. Madara was surprised to see his gaze was warm. That made him feel slightly less resentful towards him.

“I’ll need to get going,” the younger Senju said. “Are you still game for lunch next Friday?”

“Of course I am! But - if you are not in a hurry, you could come over to my place? You could get to know Madara a bit better as well?”

Madara shared a look with Tobirama. They had a moment of silent understanding that they would both prefer to spend as brief time in each other’s company and get to know each other as little as possible.

“Sorry, brother. I had a very tiring week in the office. But maybe next time.”

The crowd had thankfully thinned by the time they were leaving. Captain Yamato offered the two boys a lift. They apparently all arrived with his car, so Madara was driving Hashirama home.

“Actually, you should drive,” he handed over the keys. “I can’t see much in this dark.”

“Did you get on with my brother?” Hashirama asked him on the way home. It went without saying that Madara would spend the night at his place. He propped his head against the cold glass of the window, watching the snow slowly fall outside, grateful to be alone with Hashirama again. He felt drained after this evening. He didn’t want to see people for a week, the very least. 

“No,” he told him honestly. “But I don’t really get on with anyone, except you.” He thought about Cat Granny and Ino, and wondered if that was even true, anymore. Maybe he was right, and people could really change. He closed his eyes. He could fall asleep like this, he thought, as his car slowly started to heat up and his favourite classic rock channel played something old and familiar quietly in the background. He was still wearing Hashirama’s cloak and it smelled of sunshine, even though it was the winter. 

It was his birthday in two days. Hashirama would be upset if he didn’t tell him about it, wouldn’t he? He was likely to make a fuss, but then, Madara kid of enjoyed it when Hashirama made a fuss for him. He didn’t celebrate his birthday in years. They hadn’t really done anything for Hashirama’s in October, just Madara got them some cake from the supermarket. He wondered if Hashirama could bake a cake – he was pretty good in the kitchen.

“Madara?”

“Hmm?” he rolled his head towards Hashirama on the backrest of the seat. 

“Thank you for being here tonight. It means a lot to me.”

“I’m glad I managed it.”

“Have I said how beautiful you are?”

“Watch the road, Hashirama,” he smiled and closed his eyes. 

* * *

**_Next up - the Annual Kungfu World Championship!_ **

**_Meet the competitors!_ **

_In the junior world cup, we have a very strong field this year. Our interview today is with Rock Lee - who is the student of no one else but the World Champion title holder of the last three years - the legendary Maito Gai!_

_Lee will tell us about his strong bond with his teacher, his dedication to the traditional martial arts and the insane training program he underwent to ensure he could be here today!_

_We will take a look at the compilation of the most famous Gai moments and watch Lee as he catches up to his master._

_Don’t go anywhere - we are back after a brief commercial break!_

* * *

Winter was long and hard, but April did its best to make up for it with sunny days and mild temperature. They moved the loungers outside again, but the living room didn’t remain empty for too long. Hashirama asked if he was opposed to having a couch and a table, and Madara wasn’t really. 

Plants showed up as well, as Hashirama was spending most of his evenings at his place and they needed looking after. There was an extra wardrobe in the bedroom, which Madara ordered on the net one day, having had enough of Hashirama’s clothes getting piled up in an empty tray that used to hold apples in the corner. While he was at it, he ordered a few shelves and woven containers as well, and finally unpacked his boxes. He spent an afternoon crying over Izuna’s old stuff and talking to him, but he felt better, finding a place for everything. 

The house was finally becoming a home - for both of them. Madara was gathering his courage to ask Hashirama to move in for good. It wasn’t exactly close to Leaf Village, but Hashirama was already here half the time, so maybe he wouldn’t mind the drive every morning.

There was the question where he would meet his daughter if he gave up his flat - she was staying every second weekend with his father. Madara suspected he just had to face the fact that he needed to meet her, along with Hashirama’s ex-wife. The thought was still frightening, but not paralyzingly so. After all, they had dinner with Tobirama last month, and Mito and the kid could hardly be worse than the younger Senju brother. 

Almost a year had passed since Hashirama appeared in his life and Madara was more at peace than he had ever been before. Facing new challenges wasn’t such an unbearable thought as it used to be.

Maybe they could even give in to Cat Granny and accept one of the new kittens. If Hashirama’s daughter came to visit them, at least she would have something to do. Kids liked pets, didn’t they? Maybe he should ask Ino, assuming she knew more about children than Madara did. 

He sighed, sitting up and stretching. He looked over to Hashirama’s side of the bed, but it was empty. He was fairly sure it was a Saturday - a child free Saturday - so what was the man doing, getting up so early? He looked at his phone - it was seven a.m. He dragged on his pyjama pants and went to find him.

Hashirama was sitting on the couch, watching something on his laptop. Madara poured himself a cup of coffee and curled up against him. 

“Good morning, love,” Hashirama greeted him with a kiss. He caressed his bare arm and back. “Aren’t you cold like this?” Without waiting for an answer, he pulled the crochet throw he kept on the sofa over him. It was an ugly thing. Hashirama seemed to like ugly things. He looked at them, saw them beautiful and somehow that really made them less hideous.

“M’just going to fall asleep again like this,” Madara protested half-heartedly, taking a sip of his coffee. “Why are you not in bed?”

“It’s the finals of the Kungfu World Championship,” Hashirama said, pointing at his laptop. “And I wanted to watch this guy, he is pretty amazing.”

A figure clad in, what for all intents and purposes, looked like green spandex, fought a half-naked man half a head taller than him on the screen. Despite his ridiculous outfit and his awkward bowl cut, he managed to cut an impressive figure. He made no unnecessary moves, intent and focused on the fight. Madara, who a lifetime or two ago were passionate about martial arts, could appreciate his obvious superiority. 

He won, of course, and the camera showed him from close up. He was oddly familiar.

“I know him,” Madara said in surprise. His left side twitched at the painful memory of getting kicked hard enough to fly meters backwards. “He is very strong.”

“Oh, you like to watch traditional martial arts as well?”

“No… well, yes. At least I used to be interested in it, not sure if I still am. But I mean, I met him once.”

“I heard he is pretty eccentric. How did you find him?” 

Meeting Maito Gai had earned him a few cracked ribs. Madara recalled waking up the morning after, not even remembering his night, finding men, who he also didn’t remember in his bed. What stayed with him were the pain of the impact of that kick and the fright of the sudden realisation that he was rushing into his own demise. In a way this spandex-clad man gave him the push he needed to start over.

“It was a life changing experience.”

Hashirama smiled at him with some confusion, but Madara didn’t elaborate. He finished his coffee, then found the strength to sit up straight. He gave Hashirama a light kiss.

“I need my morning cigarette, then I’ll go for a run. Will you come with me today?”

Hashirama’s smile widened, happy as he always was when Madara invited him along. 

“Of course, I will. You know I would go with you to the end of the world.”

**FIN**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you are here - thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed the ride. Kudos and comments are much appreciated if you did.


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